


Skin Changer

by Morrowyn



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Albino Elf, Elf, F/M, Gen, Schmelf, idk anymore, skin changer, thorin - Freeform, yeah - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-16
Updated: 2015-12-11
Packaged: 2018-02-28 20:02:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 38
Words: 25,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2745254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morrowyn/pseuds/Morrowyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if Beorn wasn't the last of his kind?</p><p>Radagast's apprentice is sent, quite unwillingly, along on Thorin's quest. What will happen when she proves herself useful in more ways than one?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 


	2. A New Situation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Uh-Oh.

Sunlight fell in dappled warmth across the forest floor, the vibrant green of the leaves casting the light in a similar shade. A man strode across the foliage with purposeful strides, his brown robes barely a hindrance. Behind him, a small woman in white struggled to keep up, her shorter legs working twice as hard to match his pace.

The man kneeled beside the path, leaning heavily on his walking stick. “Oh, no. This is bad, very bad. Ilma! Take this.” The girl curled her lip at the rotted leaves in her hand, the blackened goo of them an all too familiar sight of late. Something was poisoning the forest.

Looking up, she found her companion far ahead of her, and she held her skirt up in an attempt to make more leg room. All along the path animals and plant life alike lay dying or dead, and Ilma had to wrench her eyes away, lest she fall too far behind. She panted as she reached the clearing where the little house she shared with her teacher lay nestled amongst the trees, pushing open the door to find the old man rushing about the main room, his panicked babbling adding to her already addled thoughts. Then she gasped.

On the table lay Sebastien, her master’s dearest friend among the local hedgehog population, coughing in a small, wheezing voice.

“Master Radagast, what is happening?” She asked, her soft voice cracking. “I’ve never seen the wood so...defiled!”

Her master tried another remedy on the poor little mammal, muttering to himself as if he hadn’t heard Ilma speak. “I don’t understand, it’s not as if it’s witchcraft!” His head snapped up, meeting his student’s gaze with his own, his expression serious.

“It is, isn’t it?”

He nodded slowly. “A dark and powerful magic.”

Shadows blocked the light from the windows, low scuttling sounds reaching their ears. Simultaneously they moved to block all the entrances, locking windows and barricading the door. As they finished, Sebastien gave a final whimper, his body relaxing into the sleep of death. Ilma looked to her master, the tears in his eyes dangerously close to spilling over. The walls seemed to close in on them, the beasts outside trying desperately to find a way in. Radagast waddled to the other side of the room where his staff was propped, reaching into the top of it a retrieving a blue jewel.

“What are you doing?” Mice ran across her feet, some climbing up her dress and finding refuge in her pale hair, others clambering onto her master where he now sat with Sebastien in his arms. “Master?” She called, but he was lost in a trance, his eyes rolling back into his head as he chanted words of power he’d only just begun to tell her about. Ilma drew her arms around herself, frightened by the creaking of the walls. She yelped as something broke through the thatching of the roof, one spindly leg blocking out the light of the sun as it reached into their home.

_Spiders_.

More and more holes appeared above her, and she brought her hands up to her hair where the mice took refuge, the motion as much for her comfort as it was for theirs.

Suddenly, the spiders stopped their aggressive entry and retreated, their silhouettes darks against the windows. Radagast stood, startling her, and handed her Sebastien as he ran for the door. To Ilma’s immense relief, the little hedgehog looked just fine, her master’s magic having drawn the poison from him. Following the old man outside, she took in the sudden amount of large webs in the trees. Her teacher stood not far away, speaking with a starling. Turning to her, he called out loudly.

“Ilma, I go now to track those foul creatures.”

“Then I will follow-.”

He held up a hand, halting her. “No, where I go is too dangerous for you. Besides, I need you to do something for me.”

“Yes?”

A trace of the old sparkle could be seen in his eyes as he spoke. “I need you to find Gandalf.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> http://marcianosmx.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/10/mujer_albina_nastya_zhidkova4.jpg
> 
> ^Ilma^


	3. Introductions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin is a grumpypants.

Thorin Oakenshield muttered under his breath as he followed the tall wizard’s lead through the forest, his blue eyes trained on the canopy above. He’d never liked trees, having lived the entirety of his young life underground, but this forest seemed more alive than the others he’d encountered, the trees leaning toward each other in secret council.

“Ah,” Gandalf said, pausing to lean on his staff. “On time, as usual, I see.”

“What?” Thorin demanded, not keen on any more surprises.

“Her.”

The dwarf king’s gaze followed the old man’s staff to where it pointed in the underbrush.

“There’s no one there,” Bofur whispered, exchanging concerned glances with Bombur, who grunted.

A rustling interrupted their murmuring, and they drew their weapons, nerves frayed after the troll incident. Loud and blundering, a great brown bear burst into the scene, its nose twitching as it whined at the dwarves.

“Gandalf!” There, on the beast’s haunches, sat a woman in white, her dress barely brighter than her skin, her hair falling in snowlike waves down her back. Her pale brows were creased with worry as she continued. “Thank goodness I found you!”

“Now, now, Ilma,” the grey robed wizard interrupted. “I would like to introduce you to my companions-.”

“There is no time for that, Gandalf!” She slid from the bear’s back, whispering in its ear in a language Thorin didn’t understand, though the animal seemed to, as it ambled off into the forest without so much as a glance behind. “There is something wrong in the forest, and Radagast has gone to track it!”

“Radagast? You mean the wizard who lives in the forest and talks to animals?” asked Bilbo, and the woman turned to regard him oddly.

“Yes,” she answered at long last, and the poor halfling squirmed beneath the intensity of her gaze. She then, quite suddenly, knelt down before him, her pale violet eyes, already wide with curiosity, made wider by her long, white lashes. “Are you a hobbit?” she asked, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear, revealing it’s pointed tip.

“Ah, yes, yes I am.” Bilbo answered uncertainly, glancing up at Thorin, who was livid. He’d never expected to encounter elves on his mission to reclaim his homeland, and, even if this one was proving quite odd, he did not plan on letting one know of it.

Gandalf placed a hand on the pale elf’s shoulder, drawing her focus back to him. “You said Radagast had gone somewhere?”

“Ah, yes!” She bounced to her feet, all levity gone from her countenance. “There were spiders as wide across as men, Gandalf! The likes of which I have never seen! Come,” she gathered her skirts in one hand, stepping over a fallen log with practiced ease. “I will take you to him.”

“Not so quickly, elf.” She turned to Thorin, a beautifully confused expression on her face. “I will go nowhere with you.”

She cocked her head. “I’m sorry, I had assumed that you would prefer to stay together, but if you don’t want to come you don’t have to.”

He bristled visibly; did this elfmaid not recognize a dwarf when she saw one? If she did, was she so removed from the troubles of the world that she couldn’t realize why he would not follow her?

Gandalf gave a weary sigh. “It’s not where you lead, but the fact that you are elfkind that dissuades him so.”

She scoffed. “Well, what’s that got to do with anything?” She gave Thorin her full attention, her eyes looking him up and down before moving on to regard the rest of his Company. “Thirteen dwarves would be more than enough to overpower me should I prove a threat - which I won’t. Really, friend Dwarf, you should not worry so,” she stepped up to him and placed one pale finger between his furrowed brows. “You’ll age.”

He took a livid step back, his hands holding his newfound blade between them, the elfwoman’s eyes widening, hand still hanging in the air. “Do not touch me, elf!”

Everyone was still for a long moment, the only movement the elf’s eyes as she looked from her hand to Thorin’s face. Then she pulled her arms around herself, seeming to shrink with the gesture. “My name is Ilma,” she said quietly, her eyes downcast. “May I ask yours, Master Dwarf?”

For a split instant, Thorin almost felt guilty for driving her into her shell, her exuberant personality gone from sight. Just when he might have allowed that feeling to mature to fruition, a rustling even greater than the one the elf had made upon the bear rang out through the forest, all the dwarves raising their arms against what foe had made it. Rabbits burst from the underbrush, pulling a sleigh behind them where an odd man in brown shouted unintelligibly, his gaze wild as it darted about the party.

“Radagast,” Gandalf chuckled familiarly, sheathing his sword. “It’s Radagast the Brown!” He approached his fellow wizard with a smile on his face. “What on earth are you doing here?”


	4. Kiss a Pumpkin Pasty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ilma makes a friend.

Ilma sat on a protruding tree root, her hands folded neatly in her lap, as she waited for Radagast to finish his conversation with Gandalf the Grey. She was carefully avoiding the curious gazes of the dwarves, her own eyes focused on a small grub squirming in the dirt below. She frowned; never in all her years had she seen the forest so ill at ease. Sickness itself was not uncommon, especially with the trees, but not something that affected plants and animals alike.

A pair of hairy toes entered her field of vision, and she followed them up to the hobbit’s nervous face. “You said your name was Ilma, correct?”

She nodded slowly, “Yes, I did.”

He stuck his hand out before him, his weight shifting anxiously. “Bilbo Baggins of Bag End, pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

Ilma smiled, some of her confidence returning. “The pleasure’s all mine.”

They clasped hands, and Bilbo seemed to have a conversation with himself before speaking, something Ilma filed away for future reference. “I’ve never seen an elf before, are they all...like you? You know,” he made an indiscernible gesture with his hands. “So  _white_?’

She raised a brow, resisting the urge to laugh as he became even more flustered. Then she scoffed. “No, I should think not.”

He cocked his head in confusion, his mouth opening before he closed it again. “You think?”

She smiled, leaning in as if sharing a secret. “I’ve never met an elf, either.”

The poor hobbit looked even more befuddled, and Ilma had to resist the urge to laugh. “But, you  _are_  one.”

She winked, finally allowing herself a giggle. The halfling snorted, his lips twitching into an almost smile, but he cast a glance at the dwarves and it fell.

“So tell me, friend hobbit,” she continued in the hopes of lifting both his spirit and hers. “What brings you to the Greenwood?”

“Well, that’s-.”

“ _That_  is none of your business, elf.” The dwarf leader spat from where he stood leaning against a moss laden tree. He turned his icy gaze to Bilbo, “Members of this company should not be fraternizing with the enemy.”

Ilma’s eyes widened, “I am not your enemy, Master dwarf. Although,” she lowered her brows into a scowl. “You can make me one. Personally, I’d rather kiss a warg.”

A couple of the younger dwarves guffawed, but were silenced by an odd, barking call.

“Wolves?” Bilbo asked, obviously frightened. “Are there wolves in this forest?”

“Yes, there are,” Ilma answered, standing. “But that was no wolf.”

A large black warg leapt from the outcropping above them, only to be killed by a single swing of the leader’s sword. Another came at him from behind, but it was shot down. Ilma stared at their corpses for a moment, her hands at her throat, before looking to the sky.

“I’d rather kiss a pumpkin pasty!” The dwarves exchanged glances as she looked around expectantly. She sighed in resignation. “Oh well, it was worth a try.”

The two wizards came rushing over just as the dwarf leader pulled his blade from his kill. “Warg scouts,” he shouted. “Which means an orc pack is not far behind.”

“Orcs?” Ilma looked to Gandalf in accusation. “You brought orcs into my forest?”

The grey robed man did not reply, instead addressing the dwarf. “Who did you tell about your quest, beyond your kin?”

“No one.”

“Who did you tell?”

“No one, I swear! What in Durin’s name is going on?”

Gandalf looked to all the dwarves around him. “You are being hunted.”

“We have to get out of here,” a big dwarf said.

“Yes,” Ilma agreed. “Please do, and take your orcs with you.” They glared at her, but she wasn’t overly concerned with their impression of her.

“We can’t!” A young one shouted from the outcropping. “We have no ponies, they’ve bolted.”

Well, that was just fantastic.

“I’ll draw them off,” Radagast suggested in the tone she knew meant he was seriously considering it.

“No,” she shouted, crossing the way and placing a hand on his arm. “If they catch you they’ll kill you.”

“These are Rustabell rabbits, as you well know.” A mischievous twinkle entered his eyes. “I’d like to see them try.” And with that he turned and mounted his rabbit drawn sled, clucking his tongue to wake them up. “You’d best go with Gandalf, Ilma. These parts aren’t safe anymore.”

“What?” she exclaimed, indignant. “I am more than capable of taking care of myself.”

“Do it for me if not for yourself,” he adjusted his mangled hat. “I’ll feel more at ease if you’re with warriors who can protect you.”

She looked over her shoulder at the dwarves who looked anxious to be leaving. She sighed heavily before turning back to the eccentric old wizard. “Alright.”

He smiled widely. “That’s my girl.” And then he was off.


	5. Homewrecker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bad Thorin.

The baying of wargs filled the forest air, spurring the dwarf band on. Thorin ran at the back of the group, unwilling to leave anyone behind. Unfortunately, this put him right beside the elfwoman, her strides limited by her narrow skirts. The more he saw of her, the more he became determined not to associate with her. She was smaller than the elves he’d encountered in his youth, but this may have been a side effect of her  _condition_. There was no doubt in his mind, it was the same paleness that afflicted Azog the Defiler, though his did nothing to stunt his growth. The girl stumbled over the rocks, and for the first time he took note of her bare feet, small and delicate and bleeding. The scent would bring the wargs right on them!

The elf seemed to notice this as well, and, cursing, stopped to lean against a large boulder, running a hand over each foot.

“Hurry, elf!” He called behind him, barely slowing. “We cannot wait for you!”

To his surprise, she caught up rather quickly, and, when he looked, her feet were no longer bleeding. She had used some sort of magic to heal herself. Disgusted, he made his way to the front of Company. The orc pack crossed their path, and they all stopped abruptly. They changed direction, only to be cut off again, and Gandalf urged them back the way they came. Something was off.

“Where are you leading us?” He demanded, but the old wizard avoided the question, falling in line behind the dwarves and leaving him alone with the elf again. She was not panting, but her face was becoming quite red with exertion. Gandalf urged them all against a stone, and she shrank against it with a heavy, though silent, sigh. They quieted as the growling of a warg reached their ears, the cold sound of a blade being drawn sending them into complete silence. Thorin looked up at the orc, and nodded to his nephew, who understood the signal and drew his bow in silence, turning and shooting the warg. The creature’s yelp rang out across the rock littered hills, and he winced internally. The elf beside him held her hands to her ears, her pale eyes wide with horror as she watched the Company converge on the animal and its rider. Once both were dead, she drew a shaky breath.

“Was that really necessary?”

Thorin spared her a glare, and she looked down, clearly ashamed. The howling of the warg pack grew suddenly louder, and Gandalf bade them run. The Company was on the move again, running for all it was worth, changing direction every time the beasts crossed their path. Thorin had an inkling suspicion that Gandalf was directing them somewhere, but was unable to dwell on it, as they were soon surrounded.

Kili began picking off the riders with his bow, but for every one shot down, another rose to take its place. Thorin cursed under his breath, he should not have had his nephew kill the first beast. A riderless warg circled the group, teeth bared, lunging for Ori, who stumbled back.

“Ori!” Nori shouted, rushing toward his brother, but was stopped by Fili’s hand.

Thorin watched as the elf placed herself between warg and dwarf, raising her hand before the beast. Miraculously, it stopped, cowering before the white woman, her back straight and head held proudly. She yelled something in a language he could not understand, and the warg ran where she pointed, away from the dwarves.

It was one warg of many, but, still, it was impressive. The rest of the pack pressed in around them, and Thorin finally drew his blade.

“Hold your ground!” He shouted. If they were going to die here, they would take every orc with them. And, blast it, where was Gandalf?

The old wizard’s voice, as if summoned by the dwarf king’s thoughts, cried out from behind them. “This way, you fools!”

They all turned, immediately heading for the hole in the ground their tall companion had gone into. Thorin jumped onto a rock, determined to see every member of his company to safety.

“Quickly, all of you!”

Dwarf after dwarf leapt into the abyss, until only Thorin, Kili and the elf were still above ground.

“Kili!” He cried, not willing to leave his young nephew to an uncertain fate. “Run!”

The dark haired dwarf shot down another orc before turning to answer his call, two warg riders close behind him. When Kili was close enough to the mouth of the cave that he would most certainly make it, Thorin followed his men below. Only once he was standing there did he realize that the elfwoman was not with them. Kili leapt into the hole, followed closely by the elf, and the king had to smother a swell of disappointment. She pressed her hands to the wall of the cave, and roots burst through to cover the opening, their tips jagged spikes.

The dwarves exchanged glances and whispers, and Thorin would have demanded an explanation, but a horn sounded above them and they all fell silent. A struggle could be heard, and an orc fell, screaming, upon the roots. Once it had stilled, Thorin approached it’s corpse where it hung above him, and pulled an arrow from its torso.

“Elves,” he said in disgust, tossing the arrow aside. He looked up at Gandalf, somehow knowing that the old man was up to something.

“I canno’ see where the passage leads!” Dwalin called from the dimly lit antechamber. “Do we follow it or no?”

Bofur wasted no time in answering. “Follow it, of course!”  
The dwarves filed in behind Dwalin, and when Thorin turned to see if all had followed, he saw the elfmaid looking out through the net of roots she had created, her face still red despite their short respite. She looked sad, almost pained, to be leaving, and, when she turned to him, there were tears in her eyes.

“I have never left the Greenwood, Master dwarf,” she said quietly, her voice shaking. “And now I find I may not return.”

“You may always return to your home,” he said with vehemence; after all, was he not doing that very thing?

The pale woman shook her head sadly, stepping away from the mouth of the cave. “The trees say goodbye, and they only do that when one will never return.

He stood there a moment after she had gone, staring hard at the twisted roots and the corpse which they held. Elf or not, it would seem that, in their quest to reclaim their home, they had cost the woman her own.


	6. SPF 100

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It burns us!

Ilma pressed a hand to her burning face, cursing her condition and the growing banality of such burns. She had spent minimal time in the sun, and already she felt her skin peeling. The dappled sunlight of the Greenwood had never burned her too badly, but she would never go back there, would she? She sighed in abject misery as Bilbo came up beside her.

“Does it hurt?” he asked. “The sunburn, I mean.”

Ilma smiled at the little man, his genuine, if halting, concern touching. “No need to worry, friend hobbit, I am quite used to it.”

His brow creased in the way she had come to recognize, he did it so often. “Is it because...because of your....”

“My albinism?” She supplied, and he had the decency to look away. “It’s not something to shy away from, friend hobbit. It  _is_  glaringly obvious.”

“Bilbo.”

“Excuse me?”

“Please, call me Bilbo.”

She smiled. “Of course, but only if you return the favor.”

They walked together in comfortable silence behind the dwarves, the cave walls widening and the light growing brighter as they neared what Ilma hoped was an opening. Stepping out onto a cliff, she held her breath in awe as the dwarves around her exchanged whispers. Down in the valley below an elegant city lay nestled against the rock face, its brilliant architecture blending it seamlessly into the surrounding forest. Somehow, Ilma knew instinctively that this place had been built by elves.

“The Valley of Imladris,” Gandalf said, confirming her suspicions. “In the common tongue it’s known by another name.”

“Rivendell,” Bilbo whispered beside her, his face open in its awe.

She nodded despite knowing he would not see it. “Here lies the Last Homely House East of the Sea.”

The dwarf leader climbed back up the steps to them, his face twisted into a heavy scowl.

“This was your plan all along,” he accused. “To seek refuge with our enemy.”

Gandalf looked down at him, his expression one part confused, three parts exasperated. “You have no enemies here, Thorin Oakenshield.” Aha! So  _that_  was his name. “The only ill will to be found in this valley is that which you bring yourself!”

Thorin glanced at Ilma before continuing in a more subdued tone. “You think the  _elves_  will give our quest their blessing?” Why not? It wasn’t really any of their business, anyhow. “They  _will_  try to stop us,” he finished, shaking his head.

“Of course, they will.” Gandalf agreed. “But we have questions that need to be answered.” The dwarf looked down in what would have been called shame if it were worn by anyone else; on him it just looked sad. “If we are to be successful,” Gandalf continued. “This will need to be handled with tact, and respect, and no small degree of charm. Which is why you will leave the talking to me.”

Ilma snorted. “You, sir, are unbelievable.”

The old wizard gave her a withering glance, “And you, Ilma Lossëa? Will you enter the house of Elrond?"

Her lip curled of its own volition. “It would seem I do not have much choice, Gandalf Greyhame. Though where I go from there will  _not_  be of  _any_ one else’s choosing. Excuse me,” she added for Bilbo’s benefit, nodding politely to Thorin Oakenshield before marching stubbornly away from the obstinacy she knew was no one’s but her own.


	7. A Man Has His Pride

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ah, Thorin...

Thorin kept his gaze straight ahead of him, adamantly dismissing the elven splendor of the city around him. This proved to be rather difficult, as the elf of the Greenwood was a constant in his peripheral. Her white hair caught the light in a way that made it impossible to ignore, the twinkling of it continuously catching his attention. He could avoid it by falling further back in the group, but to do so was to put himself in a position below the elf, and that was  _not_  something he was willing to do. And so he walked beside her as they crossed a narrow stone bridge, the blasted woman unaware of the trouble she put him through.

The Company clumped together, exchanging whispers at the foot of a staircase, all of them nervously awaiting their welcome. An elf came down the steps, demeanor arrogant in the way of elves. Gandalf went to speak with him, and their elf took a cautious step back. Bilbo looked up at her in confusion.

“I thought you’d be thrilled to meet one of your own kind.” He said, and several dwarves stopped their chatter to listen, Thorin included.

The elf smiled. “I guess that means you didn’t believe me when I said I’d never met an elf before.”

Whatever Bilbo would have said in reply was cut off by a horn sounding behind them. A contingent of riders cantered across the bridge, and Thorin tensed.

“Close ranks!” He commanded, and the members of the Company drew together, enclosing the little hobbit within their circle. The elf woman stepped away, edging toward the staircase as her mounted kin rode into the courtyard from across the bridge. Horse upon horse bore down upon them, cantering about them in a loose circle. One elf, sitting astride a black horse, came to a halt in front of Gandalf, greeting him.

The wizard returned the gesture, identifying the elven stranger as Lord Elrond, head of Rivendell, before engaging in a short conversation in elvish. Thorin growled to himself, not liking being left out of the discussion.

The elf dismounted, embracing the old man before walking past him and handing his aid his blade.

“Strange for orcs to come so close to our borders,” he began, his voice cultured in the way of elves. “Something or someone has drawn them near.”

“Ah,” Gandalf smiled. “That may have been us.” He gestured to the dwarves, and Thorin left the comfort of the group, holding his axe low yet still at the ready as he suffered the elf lord’s scrutiny.

“Welcome, Thorin, son of Thrain,” the taller man said, approaching him.

“I do not believe we have met,” Thorin replied curtly, matching the elf’s gaze.

“You have your grandfather's bearing,” Elrond smiled.

“Ah! There you are,” Gandalf interrupted, dragging a struggling elfmaiden from her hiding place. “My lord Elrond, allow me to introduce Ilma Lossëa, apprentice of Radagast the Brown. She accompanied us when the orcs attacked.”

Elrond’s attention shifted, and Thorin privately admitted that he was rather relieved. “ _Snow-white Starlight_ ; a very poetic name, Maid Lossëa, and very fitting.”

The woman nodded stiffly. “Thank you, my lord. It was a gift.”

Elrond smiled benignly before speaking in elvish, loud enough that most in the courtyard could hear him. Once again, the lyrical elvish set Thorin on edge, and he looked to the elfmaid for translation. Catching his angry gaze, she shrugged, her expression bewildered.

“What does he say?” Gloin called out from, the group of dwarves behind him. “Does he offer us insult, lass?”

She shook her head. “I don’t speak elvish, master dwarf. I’m as clueless as you.”

Gandalf chuckled wryly. “No, Master Gloin, he’s offering you food.”

The woman looked from the wizard to the dwarves and said, “He’s offering you food.”

Thorin rolled his eyes before leaning back to consult a fellow dwarf, Dwalin, just as many others in his Company were.

“What say you,” he whispered in dwarvish. “Can we trust them?”

The taller warrior shook his head minutely. “I’m not sure, but I’m sure the others could use a bite.”

Sure, others.

They stood apart as Gloin stepped out from the clump.

“Ahem,” he began. “Well, in that case, lead on.”


	8. Pride Cometh Before the Fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wood elf got skills.

Ilma scowled as one of the elf women Lord Elrond had assigned her tightened the fastenings of her borrowed dress. A royal blue, the overlong garment was supposed to bring attention away from her sunburn - which was already fading, thanks to some elven magic - , and to her hair, which had been braided rather intricately, and painfully, in the fashion of unmarried elfmaids.

Or, at least, that’s what she’d been told.

She refused to put on the shoes, though, claiming religious reasons when the older women insisted. Honestly, how was she supposed to commune with the earth if she couldn’t feel it?

The women chattered amongst themselves as they worked, taking full advantage of the fact that Ilma couldn’t understand them. She spoke bear, and Black Speak,  _and_  Entish, but she’d never gotten around to learning her mother tongue.

Oh, how she was regretting it now.

She sighed in resignation as a sheer overdress was slipped over her shoulders and clipped on with bracelets at her elbows and a high, corseting belt. She couldn’t believe the layers elven women were expected to wear; her overdress was even longer than the dress itself.

“There,” one elf said as she lay a simple coronet onto Ilma’s head. “You are finished.”

Thanking the women for their time, if not their efforts, Ilma made her escape. Ducking down a hallway with every intention of getting lost, she breathed a heavy sigh of relief when she found herself confronted with a balcony. Stepping out into the fading sunlight, she let her mind drift as the breeze hit her face.

Her burn was going to get worse.

But that was fine, she’d been burnt before.

Then again, there was that one time when-

“Ahem.”

She jumped, a hand flying to her heart as she turned to face whoever had spoken. The elf behind her smiled a bit crookedly at her antics, and she felt herself blush.

Hopefully she could pass it off as sunburn.

“My lady,” he bowed, his long hair falling about his face attractively. “If it pleases you, I will escort you to where your company dines.”

It most certainly did  _not_  “please her”

She bowed her head politely. “You are too kind.” Taking his offered hand in one of her own, she held her skirts with her other as she’d seen the women of Rivendell do. She must’ve looked pretty good, as several elves, and even some of the dwarves, looked up from whatever they were doing as she and her escort entered the open dining hall. Swallowing nervously, she allowed herself to be steered into a vacant seat at a table shared by Gandalf, Elrond, and Thorin. Of course, the only open seat was next to the dwarf.

Well, technically it was next to Gandalf, as well, but he didn’t count.

“Ah, Ilma, welcome.” Elrond said graciously. “We were just discussing how your companions came across blades crafted by High Elves in a troll horde.”

She looked to Gandalf. “The trio that took up residence on the East Road?”

The old man’s eyebrows rose. “You knew of them?”

Ilma nodded sagely. “Yes, though I did not deal with them directly. Several creatures were driven from their homes in the caves.”

“Ah, yes,” Elrond said, putting down his glass. “You are trained in the ways of the wood elf, are you not?”

“yes, my lord.”

“Do you mind my asking which Kingdom you originate from? I am sure they would like word of your arrival here in Rivendell.”

Ilma sighed as she picked at the food before her. “I don’t belong to any kingdom, my lord Elrond. I was cast out at a young age, as most of my mind are.”

There was a silence, and the elf lord looked at her sadly. “How old are you child?”

The elfmaid thought back through the years, not exactly confident as she said, “About five hundred, or so. Why?”

Elrond’s eyes widened. “Why, you are but a child! At what age were you cast out?”

Ilma grew quiet and stared at her hands where they lay on the table. “I do not remember living with my people, my lord. If I may,” she added, meeting the elf lord’s worried gaze. “I would like to walk amongst the trees.”

“Of course, my dear. Make yourself at home.”

“Thank you. Excuse me.” She stood, sweeping her skirts out from beneath her as she left the dining hall, gladly exchanging the din of conversation for the quiet breeze as she descended a wide staircase and made her way into a large, high walled garden. The trees whispered to her, the tinkling of their leaves beckoning.

_Come_ , they called.  _Come and sit beneath us, and we shall gift you with our splendor_.

Obviously elven arrogance was contagious.

Ilma ignored the summons of the tall, beautifully maintained trees, filtering out their hubris in her search for a humbler resting place. Then, she heard it.

_Please sit with me, fair maiden. Your flesh is weak and your body weary, and, though they are nothing compared to my greater brethren, I have both shade and trunk to comfort you_.

Smiling to herself, she made her way to the tree that, though of the same breed as the others in the garden, was twisted and stunted, with leaves growing on only one side. It had suffered a harsh winter in its youth, and never recovered, and yet, it was the most beautiful tree in all of Rivendell.

 


	9. Wish Upon a Star

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Is there much I can say besides "Oh, Thorin"?

“It is the legacy of my people,” Thorin ground out as Gandalf insisted he show the elf lord his map. “It is mine to protect, as are its secrets.”

The old wizard rolled his eyes. “Save me from the stubbornness of dwarves; you’re pride will be your downfall. You stand here in the presence of one of the few in Middle Earth who can read that map! Show it to Lord Elrond.”

Thorin met the elf’s gaze, clenching his jaw as he reaching into his overcoat and withdrew the folded map left to him by his father. He swallowed, steeling his nerves as he took a step forward.

“Thorin, no.” Balin said, placing a hand on his arm. He brushed it off, glancing down at the parchment in his hand before handing it to the elf.

The lord of Rivendell took one glance at the map before looking at Thorin sharply. “Erebor? What is your interest in this map?”

Thorin opened his mouth to answer, fully intending to tell the elf  _exactly_  why they needed a translation.

“It’s mainly academic,” Gandalf answered in his place, giving him a pointed look. “As you know, artifacts of this kind often contain hidden text. You still read ancient dwarvish, do you not?” he added as Elrond began pacing the library floor.

“I do, yes,” he said over his shoulder, a small smile crossing his face. “But there is another here who claims fluency.” He turned his gaze upward. “Tolo hí, pinig. I know you are there.”

There was a slight rustling was heard, and Thorin felt fury well in his gut that someone he didn’t know had overheard their conversation. His eyes widened as the pale elf of the Greenwood slid down a ladder, her bare feet making no sound as they hit the floor. She looked to Elrond with annoyance.

“I know you wouldn’t, but it really sounded like you called me a pig.”

Bilbo snorted and Thorin cast a glare his way, silencing him. “Woman, why are you here?”

She turned her moonlit eyes on him, and he shivered at the effect. Her pink lips quirked up into a smile. “Why, reading, of course. What else would I do in a library?”

“Ilma, I didn’t know you read ancient dwarvish.” Gandalf said, approaching the small elfmaid.

The female drew into herself, eyeing the wizard warily. “I am not familiar with all of the runes, but I can make it through a sentence unaided if I must. Why?”

Elrond smiled fondly down at the woman, and Thorin felt a weight lift off his shoulders. If she chose to stay, then she would at least have a mentor. For some reason, it had been bothering him.

“Can you read this?”

He held the map out to her, and she automatically reached out to take it. Her fingers had barely brushed the parchment when she pulled back, her eyes meeting Thorin’s.

“May I, Master Oakenshield?”

He squared his shoulders, nodding. Her acknowledgement of his authority was a display that the elf lord could not have ignored if he tried.

She took the map in her hands, her violet eyes running up and down and side to side, her lips moving as she read. She stepped up onto the open dias that took up most of the library, the moonlight catching in her hair as she paced. Stopping, she turned to face them with a smile on her face.

“There are moon runes on this map,” she announced, holding it in the air and gesturing wildly at it. Just like a child.

“Of course there are,” Gandalf sighed happily. He looked over his shoulder at his shorter companions. “An easy thing to miss.”

“In any case,” Elrond began, retrieving the map from the young elleth and sending her into a pout. “Moon runes can only be read by the light of a moon of the same shape and season as the one by which they were written.”

Thorin crossed his arms over his chest. “Can you read them?”

Elrond smiled with infuriating confidence. “Yes, I can. Pinig, you will accompany us.”

The woman started visibly. “Me? But I -.”

Elrond placed a hand on her shoulder. “You cannot pretend you are not fascinated by the concept.”

“Well, no, I suppose I can’t, but,” she looked to Thorin again, her white brows creased anxiously. “It really isn’t my place.”

Well, the girl had a better grasp on the situation than he’d given her credit for.

“She can come,” he heard himself say. “A second pair of eyes won’t hurt us.” He justified, more to himself than anyone else, and her wide smile eased the tension in his chest.


	10. Shorty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dwarves have no taste.

Ilma walked behind Thorin as Elrond lead the way into a cave behind a magnificent waterfall. She gasped at the beauty of the moonlight against the falling water, and Thorin exhaled heavily. She looked at him and met his glare.

“What? It’s pretty.”

He rolled his eyes and stomped past her in typical angry dwarf fashion. She cast a bemused glance at Bilbo, but his attention was on Elrond, who was speaking.

“These runes were written on a midsummer’s eve by the light of a crescent moon nearly two hundred years ago. It seems you were meant to come to Rivendell. Fate is with you, Thorin Oakenshield; the same moon shines on us tonight.”

What a coincidence.

Ilma watched as the moonlight fell upon the shiny altar, illuminating it from within. The light beneath the map brought the silvery runes she’d glimpsed in the library to the surface, and Elrond began began to read.

“Stand by the grey stone when the thrush knocks, and the setting sun with the last light of Durin’s Day will shine upon the keyhole.”

Ah, Dwarvish. So much written, so little said.

“Durin’s Day?” Bilbo asked Balin.

“It’s the Dwarven New Year,” Ilma answered, only to receive another glare from Thorin. She stuck the tip of her tongue out at him, wiping it from his face.

“Summer is passing,” he said to his companions. “Durin’s Day will soon be upon us.”

“We still have time,” Balin replied reassuringly.

“Time for what?”Bilbo asked, confused.

“To find the entrance,” Ilma said matter of factly, surprising the old dwarf. “You’d have to be standing in exactly the right spot at exactly the right time if you want to open the door.”

“So that is your purpose?” Elrond interjected, his voice bearing a subtle anger. “To enter the mountain?”

“What of it?” Thorin responded, and Ilma rolled her eyes at his childishness.

“There are some,” the elf lord said, handing the map back to its owner. “Who would not deem it wise.”

Very passive aggressive of him.

“What do you mean?” Gandalf asked.

Elrond looked from the wizard to Ilma. “You are not the only guardians to stand watch over Middle Earth.”

He stormed off, leaving Ilma to wipe the spit from her cheek.

“So,” she said, hoping to break the awkward tension that had settled over the group. “You are dwarves of Erebor? That actually explains a lot.”

Thorin curled his lip at her. “Like what, elf?”

“Ah, so we’re back to that are we? And here I thought I’d been promoted; to  _woman_.”

“You avoid my question.”

Ilma snorted. “Well, there’s the racism, for one.  _And_ ,” she added, blatantly stooping to meet his glare head on. “You’re a mite bit shorter than the average dwarf.”

His eyes widened, and she stood, laughing. Flipping her hair over her shoulder, she followed Elrond out.


	11. I Compared Him to a Tree

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You see, Thorin? Not all elves are evil.
> 
> Thank you BlackberrySage for letting me know about the mix up.

Thorin stood on the terrace, listening halfheartedly to the merriment of his fellows below. He cringed as he heard something break, silently cursing his Company for their crudeness. His ear twitched as Gandalf’s voice carried up to him, and he descended one flight of stairs to better hear what he was saying, but, seeing the halfling there, hesitated.

“I think you can trust me to know what I’m doing.” The old wizard was saying, his tone indignant.

“Do you?” The elf lord replied. “That dragon has slept for sixty years, what will happen if your plan should fail? If you should wake the beast?”

Thorin inhaled angrily; did the ancient fool really think he had not considered these things before raising the call to arms?

“And if we should succeed?” Gandalf returned, just as forceful. “If the dwarves take back their mountain, then our defences in the east will be strengthened!”

The dwarf king snorted; of course, the wizard had his own agenda.

“The throne of Erebor is Thorin’s birthright!” The old man continued. “What have we to fear?”

“Have you forgotten?” Elrond returned, his voice lowered but not so hushed that Thorin could not hear it. “A strain of madness runs deep in that family. His grandfather lost his mind, his father succumbed to the same sickness,” Thorin felt his lip curl in distaste as he elf continued.”Can you swear that Thorin Oakenshield will not also fall?”

Thorin felt his anger fade into a deep, cold feeling, and he ignored the halfling as he turned and left. As much as he hated to admit it, the elf’s words held some truth in them. Even he could not foretell what he would do when faced with the Arkenstone.

Perhaps, he, too, would be driven mad with greed.

“Are you alright?”

He started at the interruption of his thoughts, scowling as the pale elf came into view. She was hanging precariously from a branch above his head, her head cocked at an odd angle as she looked at him.

“What do you want, elf?”

She blinked at him silently, the motion eerie. “You’re not mad, Thorin Oakenshield. Not yet, anyway.”

He scoffed. “Do not tell me what I already know.”

She smiled, suddenly taking on an air of benign maturity. “Even if you were, it wouldn’t matter. Not to them,” she turned her gaze to where the dwarves were settling down to sleep. “Or to me, for that matter. Most folk call Radagast mad, and he’s very dear to me. Why should I treat a friend any differently?” Her smile widened into a grin, and her childlike innocence was back. “We  _are_  friends, aren’t we?”

He snorted. “No.”

“Eh? Why not?” She dropped from out of the tree, her dress catching in several places and tearing with the force of her fall. “I thought we were getting on smashingly!”

“You obviously have no experience with friends.” He squared his shoulders and began to trek down to his fellows. He did not miss the way her face fell, and he mentally prayed she would leave.

“Yes, I do!” The elf exclaimed, following him. Her footfalls her harsh, though quiet, not at all like her silent kin. “I was friends with a bear once.”

“Oh, really?” He said, his expression carefully stoic.

She stood straight, pounding her chest with boyish pride. “I named him Artan!”

“And what does that mean?”

Her smile grew sheepish. “Bear.”

He snorted through his nose in derision. “Just as I thought.” He turned to go, but her hand on his shoulder stopped him. He tossed a glare her way, and she removed it quickly, as if she had been burned.

“Right! No touching! I remember. I just wanted to ask you a question.”

He almost rolled his eyes. “Ask. I have elsewhere to be.”

“Which tree is the most beautiful?”

What? He turned to regard her fully, certain it was some jest, but her expression had lost all levity.

He looked out into the garden, unsure whether he should just point and say “That one,” just to get her to leave him alone or to truly consider it. Just as he was about to take the easy way out, something caught his eye. A small, withered tree sat artfully hidden behind two of its brethren, its black branches glowing in the moonlight.

“Ah,” the elfmaid said, following his gaze. “That one. Good choice; I agree.” He looked askance at her and she chuckled. “Though scarred and forgotten, that tree is the kindest, most considerate tree in all of Rivendell. He is humble, but not insecure, and he isn’t afraid to say what’s on his mind. He knows he’s not much compared to the others around him, but he doesn’t let that dissuade him. He’s pertinacious and quick witted. Why,” she paused and met his gaze, the moonlight making her eyes a vibrant white. “He’s a lot like you, wouldn’t you say?”

He kept quiet, having no answer to such honest praise. After a moment of silence, she cleared his throat uncomfortably.

“Good night, woman.” He said.

She laughed softly, “Good night, Master Oakenshield.”


	12. It Did

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What? It did!

Ilma stood, stretching under the morning sun. She’d managed to sneak out of Rivendell after her conversation with the Dwarf King, just narrowly escaping a summons to the “Guardian’s Meeting”. Ugh. She knew her place in the world, and most certainly did  _not_  need a group of old men to tell her how to stay in it. The trees were her concern, just as men were Gandalf’s and the elves were Elrond’s, and it was high time she found out what was making them ill. She sat back down on the branch where she’d spent the night, silently thanking the tree for letting her sleep in it. The sound of clashing metal reached her ears from below, and she looked down, surprised.

There, at the base of the tree, was the group of dwarves she had left behind in Rivendell.  She smiled.

“Hail, dwarves!” She shouted down to them, laughing when they jumped to their feet. “Up here!”

They looked up and Ilma waved before making her way down. As  soon her feet hit the ground, she found herself surrounded by dwarves, all clamoring for her attention. Thorin made his way to the front of the group, his face drawn into its usual scowl.

“Why are you following us, woman?”

Ah, so she’d managed to keep her promotion. Wonderful. “Ah, dear Oakenshield, I hate to correct you, but  _you_ ,” her finger hovered over his nose, close enough to feel his warmth, “are following  _me_. I left before you did,” she added, drawing her hand back to tuck her hair behind her ear. “So this is merely a pleasant coincidence for us to start the day with.”

His scowl didn’t lessen as he turned and left her with his men, and she didn’t bother to hide her smile.

“You have no supplies, lass,” said one dwarf - Bombur - in surprise.

“Anything I need the land will provide,” she replied, smiling up at the tree who’d given her sanction.

“How do you cut your meat?” One of the younger ones asked, and she noted his resemblance to their leader.

“She’s an elf, Kili,” his blond counterpart scolded, hitting him over his head. “They don’t eat meat.”

The brothers began squabbling amongst themselves, and they were unceremoniously shoved from the ring surrounding the woman.

“Why did you leave?” A soft voice asked, and she looked down at Bilbo. “Rivendell, I mean. I thought you’d be thrilled to finally be among your own people.”

Ilma snorted. “Those stuffy old fools? No, thank you.”

“Where were you headed?” Asked a dwarf with a strange looking hat. “If you weren’t following us, as you claim you weren’t.”

What a suspicious lot. “I was planning on finding whatever’s making the Greenwood sick. If I can eliminate it at its source, the forest should be free to start healing.”

The dwarf’s gaze softened as he smiled. “You truly care for your trees, don’t you lass?”

“Of course, I do; they’ve always cared for me, it’s only natural I do the same.”

“Will you be traveling with us, then?” Bilbo asked, his expression hopeful.

“No,” Thorin interjected from across the camp, drawing everyone’s attention. “We cannot allow any distractions from our quest.”

Ilma smiled again, just because she knew it annoyed him. “You’re right, of course. And there’s no telling when we might part ways.” She looked down the road longingly before turning back to Thorin. “Although, there  _is_  safety in numbers.”

“No.”

She pouted, “Fine, I’ll go. But, if it happens again, I get to stay.”

“It won’t.”

 -

It did.

Thorin glared up at the woman in the tree above their camp. She’d made herself known to the Company while he was off speaking with Balin about how to make up for their lack of ponies. When they’d returned to camp, they’d found her hanging upside down from a low branch, her hair dangerously close to the fire. Now, she sat having a hushed conversation with Fili and Kili, her eyes dangerously bright.

She was as bad as they were.

“Will you let her travel with us?” Balin asked, and Thorin crossed his arms over his chest.

“She will leave us when our paths divide.” He said, pulling at his beard in thought. “In the mean time, she may prove a needed distraction.”

Balin nodded, “It is nice to see them smile again, isn’t it?”

Thorin hummed in agreement as his nephews burst into laughter as the elfmaid finished her story. She clapped her small hands in delight, looking for all the world like a small child playing with her favorite toy. Sighing, he shouted over the din of conversation.

“We turn in now if we are to rise with first light!” A collective groan of disappointment met his ears and he scowled. “I will take first watch.”

Balin nodded, moving to join the rest of the Company.

“I’ll join you.” He nearly jumped as the woman spoke beside him, her smile wide and unassuming. “We could use some bonding time, you and me.”

He snorted derisively. “I do not need your help, elf.”

Her eyes widened and her mouth fell open. “I thought we were past that!”

Thorin turned away from her, fully intending to leave her with the camp, but her footsteps followed him, and he sighed.


	13. Titanfall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin, was that really necessary?

Thorin looked up at the shadowy form of the Misty Mountains, their jagged peaks illuminated by a sudden flash of lightning. Behind him, his nephews spat rainwater at each other, much to the elf’s delight. He was loathe to hike the trails without Gandalf, and the rain did nothing to encourage such reckless behavior, but if they were to make up for their lost time, then they had no choice to brave the storm.

“We should find shelter,” Balin shouted over the sound of water hitting stone. “We cannot continue in this torrent.”

Fili laughed uproariously, and Thorin turned around.

“I think Ilma’s got it covered!”

The elf parted the hair that had fallen into her face, concealing it from the world like a pair of white silk curtains. Her pale eyes peeked out at him as she smiled, water dripping down her face. There was a bruise under one eye where she’d hit herself after tripping over her skirts. She’s nearly torn them off in her frustration, and only the halfling’s insistence had her keeping any sort of propriety. The Dwarf King rolled his eyes, turning his attention back to the trail ahead.

They were such children.

“We continue! No storm will keep us from our birthright.”

“Is that your mountain?” The woman asked.

“No.”

She nodded sagely, her hair falling back into her face. “I thought it seemed a bit too easy.”

He sighed; the woman was beginning to try his nerves.

“So,” she began after a while, running her hand against the mountainside. “How long do you think this rain will last?”

He ignored her, pressing forward  in the hopes that she would understand his rebuff and keep to his like-minded nephews. She matched his pace, her smile unfazed.

“You’re not one for small talk, are you?”

She was either desperate for company or truly dense. He stopped when she yelped, clutching to his shoulder as she stumbled.

The path was getting narrower.

“Stick to the wall!” He yelled over a crack of thunder, spitting the hair from his mouth as he followed his own advice, pointedly ignoring the small hand that clung shakily to his coat.

The rain got gradually worse, until the drops themselves hurt like hailstones, and the rock beneath Thorin’s feet became treacherously wet. Going booted was hard enough; he didn’t want to think about the hardship faced by the barefooted members of his Company. He was beginning to regret continuing through the rain, but he kept his expression neutral. It was only once the hobbit almost fell that he gave in to his misgivings.

“We must find shelter,” he shouted, eyes scanning the rock face for any sign of a cave.

“Look out!” Dwalin shouted, and he turned his gaze to the sky, eyes widening as a giant boulder fell from the clouds, crashing against the mountain above them. Debris fell upon them, and he felt the woman’s grip slacken. Looking back, he saw blood on her face and a lifeless expression in her eyes. Moving by instinct, he grabbed her by the wrist and snapped her out of her lethargy before she could tumble from the cliff.

“This is no thunderstorm!” Balin called from the back of the line. “It’s a thunder _battle_!”

Thorin watched in horrified awe as rock peeled itself from the mountainside, revealing it’s true form as a stone titan, recently awakened from its centuries long slumber. It tore the peak off of its stony bed, lifting it onto its shoulder.

“Well, bless me,” Bofur shouted, a hand to his hat. “The legends are true! Giants! Stone giants!”

Thorin’s eyes widened as the creature launched its weapon toward their mountain, heaving a sigh of relief as it rushed past and collided with another titan. Pulling the elf down with him, he shouted to his kin.

“Take cover, you fools!”

Everyone scrambled to get as close to the wall as possible as more stones fell from above. A great rumbling sounded from within the mountain, and Thorin felt his insides freeze with dread. Looking back, his fears were confirmed as a wide crack split the Company in two. He turned his gaze skyward, struggling to remain upright as the titan whose legs they stood upon was pushed back. The elf leaned against him, her eyes wide and unseeing as their leg hit the true mountain, connecting conveniently with the rest of the path.

“Thorin?” she asked, frightened. “What’s happening?”

He didn’t answer, choosing instead to save her life by dragging her off the beast and out of the way of several falling boulders. She stumbled into him, and he righted her quickly. Thorin’s half of the Company watched as their companions held on for dear life as the titans fought with painfully slow movements. Pieces of the mountain were torn off and used as bludgeons, one titan knocking off another’s head with the force of its blow. Unfortunately, this was the titan that the dwarves - and hobbit - were standing on.

Thorin watched in horror as his people whizzed by as the titan’s corpse fell. The beast’s knee struck the path ahead of them, and he felt grief consume him.

“No!” he shouted, stumbling almost blindly to where the beast had no doubt deposited the corpses of his kin. “No!”

Once the titan had fallen away, Thorin’s pace doubled, and he rounded the bend, stopping in his tracks as he counted every live dwarf and hobbit. He smiled, scoffing in relief. Only then did he notice that he still held the woman’s wrist in his hand, his nails biting into her flesh with the tightness of his grip. He shifted his hand’s position, looking away from her despite knowing she couldn’t see him. He ducked into a cave, assessing it quickly.

“Looks safe enough.”

“Search the back,” he replied, nodding to Dwalin. “Caves in the mountain are seldom unoccupied. Elf,” she turned to face him, and he noted with a scowl that one pupil was larger than the other. “Come with me.”


	14. I Told You So

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, I did.

Ilma winced reflexively as Balin poked at her head - at least, she thought he was Balin. Her vision was a bit blurry.

“I’ll be fine, friend dwarf,” she said, smiling. “I’ve been blinded before.”

“I’ll not have you slowing us down,” Thorin replied, and she fell silent in surprise. She must have hurt herself badly if she mistook the king for his aide.

Why was everything so white?

“Master Oakenshield, I’m fine,” she said, placing her hand over his and hissing when she brushed her cut. “Just show me where it is and I’ll handle it.”

He was silent for a moment before sighing, guiding her hand roughly to the tender flesh.

By Eru, that hurt.

She inhaled through her nose, gathering her power through the earth beneath her. The scent of dirt and rain and dust filled her, and she sneezed. Rather painfully. Her fingers had dug into her injury out of reflex.

“Argh,” she groaned, inciting many chuckles from the dwarves around her. “Blasted rain.”

Grumbling under her breath, she again reached for her traditional source of power, only to find nothing but empty air beneath the rock upon which she stood. Confused, and greatly concerned, she tried to stand, reaching out blindly in the hopes of finding a solid wall.

“Woah, there, lass,” a dwarf - Bofur, if his hat was enough to go by - said. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“I need to find a wall,” Ilma ground out through gritted teeth.

“Whatever for?” Bofur asked, cheerfully confused.

“The earth is my source of power, friend dwarf. I need solid stone if I’m to heal this wound.”

“Wouldn’t the stone under our feet do?” Bilbo asked innocently as Bofur kindly lead her to one of the cave walls.

Ilma sighed as she felt the indomitable strength of the mountain thrum beneath her fingertips. She channelled it into herself, modifying the raw strength into a healing energy that quickly engulfed her body. Her vision blurred, then cleared, and the pain in her head was quickly gone. Turning to face the hobbit, Ilma shrugged, smiling.

“Well, the floor beneath us is hollow, for one.”

The poor dear’s eyes widened dramatically, and Ilma held up her hands placatingly. Before she could give an utterance of reassurance, Thorin was storming toward her, an angry scowl back in place.

“What did you say, elf?” Again with the ‘elf’ nonsense? “How can you know this?”

Ilma rolled her eyes, giving the shorter man a spitefully petulant look. “If it were solid, then I wouldn’t have needed the wall, now would I?”

They glared at each other, blue eyes meeting violet. Ilma was the first to look away, her attention caught by something decidedly more interesting than a little man with self esteem issues.

“How do you know the mountain beneath us is hollow?” He asked, albeit more calmly than before. Ilma held up a hand to silence him, her ears twitching.

“Did you hear that?” she asked.

The dwarf king gave her an exasperated look, no doubt convinced she was avoiding the question, sorry clod. “Hear what?”

She cocked her head, listening carefully as she looked toward the back of the cave where Dwalin was still snooping about.

“Nothing, Master Oakenshield,” she said at last, turning back to him with a small smile. “I am imagining things.” She only hoped she wasn’t lying.

-

Ilma listened to the dwarves sleep, their snores endearing in their loudness. Radagast snored, as well, when he allowed himself to sleep. He often spent days in the wilds, coming back incredibly disheveled with tired but smiling eyes. An ache ran through her chest as she thought of the wizard. Certainly, Lord Elrond had killed the orcs before they had caught up to the old man, but had he been alright since? Had he returned to the Greenwood to tend to the creatures there? Or had he, too, succumbed to the sickness.

A nasty thought, that, and one she did not like thinking. All the more reason to find a cure.

Her ears twitched again, catching parts of Bilbo’s conversation with Bofur under the same scraping she had heard earlier. How the dwarves who had been born and raised in a mountain didn’t notice the rumbling beneath them was beyond her, but, if their king found nothing amiss, who was she to instigate?

“Did you hear that?” Bilbo asked Bofur. Finally.

Thorin stirred from the other side of the cave, standing hastily.

“Get up, you fools!” he said, and Ilma stood, noticing the crack in the sandy floor as it made its way toward the entrance.

She knew it was petty, really she did, but she couldn’t resist flashing a triumphant smile in the blue eyed dwarf’s direction.

“I told you it was hollow.”

Then the floor was gone from beneath them and they fell, Ilma laughing to herself at the livid expression that had crossed Thorin’s face.


	15. Do the Monster Mash

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was a Goblin Town smash!

Thorin cursed himself as he tumbled with the rest of his company down a long downward spiral. Surely there had been some sign of this, something he had missed.

_Of course, there was_ , he chastised himself.  _The elf saw it, and you ignored her._

Blasted female looked to be enjoying herself, too, laughing and screaming in delight as she was. She had that childish grin in place again, her hair flaring out behind her as she slid past him. The dwarves poured out into an enclosure, of sorts, and Thorin promptly found himself caught between the woman and Bombur.

“Well,” she said breathlessly from beneath him, her purple eyes glittering. “I must say that you look very different from this angle.”

So did she.

His men began crying out in alarm as a host of hunchbacked goblins ran toward them, and Thorin himself was pulled unceremoniously to his feet. Ilma cried out behind him, but, before he could look back, he was tossed to the front of the line and dragged behind a particularly nasty looking goblin. They protested all the way as they were pulled across bridges and beneath overhangs, the cries of bats screeching in their ears. Thorin gaped in sick fascination as the little cave paths they’d been led down opened up into a veritable city of goblin lights and bridges, gongs and primitive horns sounding the arrival of the dwarves. Then he saw it...or him. On a large throne - for it had to be large - sat a grotesquely obese goblin many times the height of its kin, an oblong double chin hanging from his jowls.

The beast stood as the dwarves were pushed across one final bridge, several of the smaller variety rushing to help keep him upright.

“I feel a song coming on!” He shouted over the din as Thorin was forced to his knees in front of him.

“Clap snap, the black crack

Grip, grab, pinch, and nab

Batter and beat

Make ‘em stammer and squeak!

Pound pound, far underground

Down, down, down in Goblin Town.”

The monster began to dance, his fat jiggling. The goblins of the ‘town’ had begun to crowd around what was presumably their leader, possibly king, singing along. Thorin turned his head, hoping to avoid the traumatizing sight, only to find Ilma bouncing to the beat.

“What?” She asked when she noticed his glare. “It’s catchy.”

“With a swish and smack

And a whip and a crack

Everybody talks when they’re on my rack

Pound pound, far underground

Down, down, down in Goblin Town.”

One of the goblins stumbled into the woman beside him, and Thorin pulled back as she fell into him. Her hands scrambled for purchase lest she fall again, and he begrudgingly let her hold onto his coat once more as he got to his feet, signaling to the others to do the same. How he wished that this song was over and done with.

“Hammer and tongs, get out your knockers and gongs

You won’t last long on the end of my prongs

Clash, crash, crush and smish

Bang, break, shiver and shake.

****  
  


You can yammer and yelp

But there ain’t no help

Pound pound, far underground

Down, down, down in Goblin Town.”

And then, as quickly as they began, the festivities were over, and the goblin king stepped over his own king to reach his throne, smiling down at them as if he were some benign ruler as they were stripped of their weapons.

“Who would be so bold as to come armed into  _my_  kingdom?” He asked suddenly, bringing his face uncomfortably close. “Spies? Thieves? Assassins?” With each word he grew more paranoid, eyes widening in their sockets.

“Dwarves, your malevolence,” a narrow face goblin sniveled. “And an elf. Found ‘em on the front porch.”

“Well, don’t just stand there!” He commanded. “Search them!”

Thorin quickly found himself on the receiving end of many groping hands, and he strove to shove them away.

“Ah!” The woman yelped, pressing closer to his back. “Don’t touch me there!”

The goblins laughed at her expense, unconcealed lust in their eyes as they swarmed on her, and Thorin quickly stepped between them.

“Keep your hands off her,” his nephew, Fili, said, joining him in her defense. Several others of the company stepped into formation, around her. Gallant as their intentions were, their actions left their bag of spoils from Rivendell free for the taking.

“It is my belief, your great protuberance, that they are in league with elves!”

The king tossed aside the candlestick handed to him, “That much is already obvious. What remains to be seen is why they have come.”

Thorin made to step forward and tell the beast exactly who he had in his possession, but Dwalin held him back, and no one stepped forward. The goblin king nodded his head as if he had expected this.

“Very well, if you will not talk, we’ll make you squawk!” The goblins around them cheered, and Thorin felt apprehension well in his gut. Several of the company shifted from foot to foot and their captor turned back to them. “Start with the youngest!”

Ori’s mouth fell open and they all swarmed to protect him, moving as one solid unit. Well, most of them. The goblin king’s face split into a wide grin.

“Never mind, I want the oldest; bring me the elf!”


	16. Off To See The Wizard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seriously, Gandalf?

Ilma froze as all eyes went to her, and she smiled - a nervous habit. Goblins rushed toward her, their hands reaching for things other than her arms.

Oh, they sure knew how to rile a woman.

“Wait!” The voice rang out, clear and strong over the noise of the goblin wretches, and Ilma watched in horrified awe as Thorin stepped out from the crowd.

_Idiot, he’ll kill you! Thank you for this, but you’re blasted **stupid**!_

“Well,” the goblin king said, smiling from ear to ear. “Look who it is. Thorin son of Thrain son of Thror, King under the Mountain.” He bowed, a mocking gesture. “Oh!” He straightened. “But I’m forgetting, you don’t  _have_  a mountain. And you’re not a king. Which makes you...nobody really.”

Ilma watched as Thorin’s face fell, and she resisted the urge to yell out a confidence. Just barely, but she did it.

“I know someone,” the giant continued. “Who would pay a pretty price for your head. Just the head, and nothing attached. Perhaps, you know of whom I speak; an old enemy of yours.” Ilma rolled her eyes at the melodrama. “A pale orc, with a white warg.”

“Oh, you mean Azog?” All eyes turned to her, and Ilma shrunk under the attention. “What? There aren’t many orcs who match that description.”

“Azog the Defiler was destroyed,” Thorin said angrily. “He was slain in battle long ago.”

“So you think his defiling days are done, do you?” He tittered inanely before turning to a small goblin in a basket. “Send word to the pale orc. Tell him : I have found his prize. Oh, and,” He turned back to the group, smiling widely. “Don’t forget to mention the elf. A pale bride for the pale orc, I’m sure he’ll be pleased.” Ilma felt the bile rising in her throat even as her anger clouded her vision. “Go!”

“What makes you think he’ll want me?” She heard herself ask as the little goblin sped away. “Azog already has an heir.”

The goblin king chuckled grotesquely. “And how would you be knowing that? Hmm?” He stomped toward her, leaning heavily on his staff. “Oh, don’t think I don’t know who you are, Elf of the Greenwood! Word has travelled far and wide of your alliance with the white orc!”

She smiled up at him, ignoring the whispers that reached her ears. “It is not an alliance, and it isn’t with Azog.”

The giant’s face contorted with anger. “Do you take me for a fool?”

“Yes, actually.” When had she gotten so bold? “My agreement is with the warg.”

He rolled his eyes, tromping away from her. “Oh, yes, because there’s  _such_  a difference.”

“There is,” she began, slowly inching her way toward the pile of weapons. “Wargs do not pillage, and they do not burn, but most importantly,” she kicked out with her foot, knocking Thorin’s blade loose from it’s scabbard. “They obey the hierarchy.”

The goblin king leapt onto his throne, cowering. “I know that sword!” He shouted. “It is the Goblin Cleaver!”

All of the surrounding goblins hissed, rushing in all directions to get away from the elven blade.

“Kill them,” the king cried. “Kill them all!”

_That_  didn’t go exactly as planned.

Ilma reached into herself, perfectly ready to reach into her own reserves to defend herself and her dwarves, but before she could utter the word of power, a great light burst through the dark of the cave, bright and pure and  _ **blinding**_. She was flattened to the ground by the force of the blast, her back colliding with someone. Or something.

“Take up arms,” Gandalf’s voice rang out through the silence. “Fight.”

Suddenly, Ilma found herself surrounded by the sounds of combat. Blasted Gandalf and his penchant for light! Didn’t he know how that would affect someone with her condition?

“What are you doing, lass?” Bofur asked over the din. “Defend yourself!”

“I would, master dwarf,” she began, once again drawing from her reserves in the hopes of casting a spell. “But yon wizard has blinded me.”


	17. Got Your Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If you've got mine.

Thorin roared at the top of his lungs, charging the goblin offensive. He was angry insulted and betrayed. How  _dare_ the woman make an alliance with his enemy? How  _dare_ she travel with him knowing who he was and what Azog meant to him? How  _dare_ she-?

Where was she?

He lowered his blade, scanning the tumult desperately until his eyes found her pale frame leaning against Bofur, who was fending off far too many goblins. The woman wasn't helping him, her free hand held out in front of her as if...

As if she'd been blinded. Again.

Growling to himself, Thorin clove a path to his comrade, taking the brunt of the attack as Bofur turned to the elf, worry plain on his face.

"What's happened?" He demanded, his voice made frantic by the battle.

Bofur shrugged, the ends of his hat wobbling as he replied. "She says it was Gandalf, though I'm not sure how-."

"Retreat!" The wizard shouted above the din. His staff glowed, a beacon in the caves as he led the way to what Thorin hoped was an exit. Without thinking, he grabbed hold of the woman's wrist and dragged her behind him. He and Bofur fell in behind Balin and Dwalin as the Company ran across spindle legged bridges that groaned beneath their weight.

Every dwarf -and wizard- in the Company held his own, fighting off goblins and pushing them to their deaths. Thorin was having a bit of difficulty, as Orcrist was a two handed blade and he had but one hand to weild it. Why had he grabbed the elfmaid, anyway? It wasn't as if she could fight. He highly doubted she'd ever killed anything in all her centuries of life.

In his musings, Thorin had let himself be distracted. As he brought his blade down through a goblin's shoulder, he heard the ominous shriek of another behind him. He whirled, but was too late. His elf had shoved it unceremoniously over the edge of the bridge. Her violet eyes met his, hard and determined. Soft fingers interwove with his and she gave him a soft smile.

"I've got your back."

He nodded. It was all he had time to do before they were left behind by the rest of the Company, but it somehow conveyed not only his gratitude, but a promise to set aside their differences until they were safe.

They quickly caught up with Gandalf and the others -though they had to cross a gap with a ladder to do it. Once across, the dwarves hurried along the path, not stopping for anything.

Except maybe the Goblin King.

The grotesque specimen burst from beneath the floorboards, his body jiggling obscenely as he pulled himself up royally. His minions surrounded the dwarves without hesitation as he spoke.

"You thought you could escape?" The Goblin King swung his sceptre like a club, narrowly missing the tall wizard. "What are you going to do now?"

Thorin wasn't at an angle to see Gandalf's face, but somehow he juat knew the old man was smiling. Well, smirking, really. The elf was smiling. Gandalf wasted no time disabling the giant goblin-kin and slicing through the top layer of fat across its stomach. It fell to its knees and gave Gandalf a grudging smile.

"That'll do it."

All chaos erupted as the wizard cut the Goblin King's throat. The massive corpse fell, rocking the bridge. Thorin felt the elf's grip tighten; he'd forgotten he still held her hand. Then the bridge came out from under them.

In an instant, the woman's arms were around him, holding him a bit too close for comfort. As the bridge beneath them disintegrated, however, he found he didn't have the heart to snap at her. They tumbled apart as the remains of the bridge fell into an open mouthed cavern, the wood sandwiching the Company crushingly.

"Well,  _that,_ " Bofur said cheerfully. "Could have been worse."

Thorin might have been inclined to agree if the Goblin King's corpse hadn't fallen on top of them!

And then there was the scream. It was shrill and blood curdling and had better not have come from one of his men.

"What is it, lass?" Balin asked, clearly concerned. "Have you been hurt?"

"My leg. My leg is broken," she sobbed quietly. Though she cried, her voice held more incredulity than pain. "I've never  _broken_ anything before."

Dwalin snorted. "'Tis not an experience I think you'd be wanting to repeat."

She laughed shakily. "Indeed, not."

"Enough chatter," Gandalf boomed suddenly. We must hurry. Daylight is all that can save us now."

That certainly got them moving. Fili and Kili took care to lift the wood pinning the elf down, and Bofur pulled her out. The Company let out a collective hiss. Her leg hadn't been broken, it had been snapped. The marrow of her right femur was bared for all to see, and blood wept from the broken skin.

"Ilma," Fili started, but was interrupted by the howls and screeches of goblins as they poured into the cavern.

"Quickly!" Gandalf shouted. "We must leave the darkness behind."

"But Ilma-," Kili's mouth snapped shut as Thorin scooped the lame woman up, cradling her against his chest as he ran. She whimpered, burying her face in his vest, and he felt an enormous weight settle on his shoulders. Had he trusted her back in the cave, she would not have been hurt. Had he trusted her back in the cave, he would not have learned of her alliance with Azog.

His grip on her tightened, and she hissed hin pain as the Company burst out of the caves and into the fading light of the sun.


	18. Another Side of Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the dark of the night, Ilma will find you~  
> Oo~wa~oo~!

Ilma cringed and buried her face in Thorin's chest, her eyes watering at the sun's sudden intrusion. Honestly, did they _have_ to be so sensitive? Thorin probably thought less of her now.

"Are there trees nearby?" She asked quietly, irrationally afraid to break the sudden silence.

She felt his sharp nod and relaxed in his arms. If there were trees, then she didn't have to worry about asking the same mountain for energy twice in as many days. Hopefully she'd be able to heal her leg without draining anything.

Thorin came to a stop, his chest rumbling with the low cadence of his own language as he knelt and lay her gently upon the ground, propping her back against a rough barked tree. When she opened her eyes, she saw a clearing awash with the red light of dusk. Thorin's eyes glowed in the shadows of his face, their intensity reminding her that she had some serious explaining to do.

"I'm sure you have questions," she said hoarsely. "But I hope they can wait until I can stand on my own. If it's any comfort," she continued as his gaze softened fractionally. "Between you and Azog, I will most certainly choose you. It's not even a choice, really."

That seemed to satisfy him, and he left her alone, standing to speak with his men in that booming voice of his.

Sighing, Ilma dug her fingers into the earth, politely nudging the trees scattered around the knoll. They answered promptly, mild mannered and eager to please.

_Take what you need._

She smiled and pulled the energy from their roots. That smile became a grimace as her bones snapped back into place of their own accord. One of the dwarves cursed while another yelped -Fili and Kili, no doubt. There was a final sickening  _crack!_  and she sighed in relief as her skin knit together seemlessly.

_Thank you._

"By Mahal, lass," Dwalin said, his voice uncharacteristically kind. "Didn't that hurt ye?"

She smiled as she opened her eyes against the residual pain in her leg. "As much as it did to break it. Oh! Why, hello, Bilbo. Glad to see you've joined us." The hobbit flushed endearingly and Ilma's smile widened.

"You owe us an explanation, elf."

All levity left her face as she turned to Thorin. And he'd been doing so well.

"I don't have an alliance with Azog," she said with a sigh, addressing the whole company though her eyes never left Thorin's. " I  _do_ , however, have an understanding with his warg."

"What's the difference?" Thorin growled, and Ilma resisted the urge to roll her eyes.

"Wargs, like most canines, respect territorial boundaries. So long as I don't neglect mine, the pack stays out. They  _did_ , anyway, before you lot brought them down on my head - literally."

Through her periphery, she could see several faces fall in chagrin, but Thorin's remained as stormy as ever.

"Your path was to part from ours leagues ago. Why did you stay if you hold us in such contempt?"

Her eyes widened. "What? No, I love you -all of you! Plus, I'm a bit curious about this Smaug fellow. Do you think he'll just eat me or answer my questions first?"

Bofur guffawed. "You want to meet the  _dragon_?"

Ilma felt a blush rising. "Is that odd?"

No one answered her, but the entire company seemed more at ease. Even Thorin had lessened his scowl -though, surely, this was a mistake of the gods'. A miracle, fleeting and dazzling, to be treasured.

The breeze carried a dangerously familiar scent to her nose and she jerked her head up. Thorin followed her gaze, but there was nothing to see. A chorus of howls rang out through the air as she pulled herself to her feet, and the dwarf king scowled.

"Out of the frying pan-."

"And into the fire," she finished grimly. Turning to Gandalf, she began loosening the muscles in her hands. "Go. Take them to safety."

"What about you?" Bilbo asked, the sweetheart.

"My leg is still too weak to be of any use. I'll only hold you back.

"Then we'll carry you!" Kili near shouted, and she smiled sadly.

"Again, I'll only slow your progress."

"Have you got a plan, then?" Bofur asked, face alight with hope.

Ilma's grin grew wide. "Wargs can't climb trees."

Gandalf eyed her for a moment before nodding subtly and giving the command to run. She turned to Thorin, who was still standing there with an odd espression on his face.

"I suppose this is where we part ways, eh, Master Grumpyshield?" His familiar scowl fell back into place and she smiled. "I hope to see you in Erebor one day. I mean it."

He nodded curtly before running after his men and Ilma released the breath she'd been holding. Wargs most certainly didn't climb trees, but orcs did. The smart ones, anyway. Not that she'd be hiding in a tree.

Steadying her nerves, she loosened her tight muscles and fell into the beast.


	19. Honor, Duty, and Guts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lots of guts.

Thorin ran, his armor clinking against itself as he crossed rough terrain. Guilt, heavy and stifling, weighed him down, and he didn't even try to shake it off.

The elf was going to do something stupid.

He'd seen it in her eyes as she'd wished him well, in how frantic she was for them to leave. She probably thought she could reason with the wargs, or some such nonsense.

She had looked so resigned, as if sacrificing herself was the only option. Stupid, stupid woman.

The howls of wargs brought his attention back to the matter at hand - running for his life - just in time. The pack had caught up with the Company, riderless beasts at the front. Growling, Thorin thrust himself into the heat of battle, mind blessedly blank as he brandished Orcrist before him. He needed to focus.

And then, he ran out of ground.

"Into the trees!" He yelled, remembering the elf's words. His men acted without hesitation, using each other to catapult themselves into the branches. Wargs swarmed beneath them, claws scrabbling against the bark of the pines. They jumped and snapped, but they stayed on the ground.

The elf was right.

Then again, she often was. He just never took the time to listen. Perhaps she'd been right to call him racist.

The wargs below suddenly calmed, turning to look at

"Azog." He said with disbelief. He'd heard the goblin speak of the pale orc's survival,but seeing it for himself was another thing entirely.

"Do you smell it?" The nightmare asked, his voice carrying in the silence. "Fear. I remember your father reaking of it, Thorin son of Thrain."

Thorin's heart died in his chest. "It cannot be..." he trailed off, his throat thick with emotion.

Azog held his gaze, fleetingly different expressions crossing his face. "That one is mine," he said in his rough language. "Kill all the others."

The wargs resumed their assault on the trees, and a still, small voice in the back of Thorin's mind told him that  _she_ wouldn't like that. He ignored it. His heart was gone, and his entire body felt hollow and heavy. The trees shook under the force of the wargs, branches snapping like twigs in their powerful jaws. The dwarves were forced higher into the trees and still the creatures leapt them. Then the trees started falling.

_She_ was really going to hate that.

The entire Company crowded the boughs of one tree on the edge of the cliff. Thorin looked down, resigned to the death the cliffs would bring him. Despair filled him as a single howl rose above the yips and barks of the wargs below, long and sorrowful. It seemed to spur Gandalf into action, and Thorin watched apathetically as the old wizard used his staff to ignite a pine cone of all things. And as he tossed it down and the flames rose, Thorin felt hope rekindle in his chest.

Soon, all the wargs had retreated, and even Azog's mount looked ready to run. The dwarves rejoiced, but their antics proved too much for the spindly pine that held them. It fell away from the flames and over the cliff, and Thorin looked on in horror as his friends - his family! - held on for dear life. Nori, who held onto his brother Ori, fell. Thorin's heart leapt into his throat, staying there as Gandalf pulled them both to safety. He turned, looking over his shoulder, and froze. The voices of his comrades fell away and became silence as his gaze met the cool blue of Azog's. The orc wasn't gloating over his victory. His eyes held an uncertainty, a sense if disappointment that Thorin shared wholeheartedly.

He felt himself stand, Orcrist in one hand and his oak branch shield in the other. His friends did nothing to stop him, or, if they did, he did not acknowledge it. He ran through the flaming forest, his blade held high. His face twisted into a scowl as adrenaline pumped through his veins. His nemesis smiled as he spurred his white warg off the ledge above the dwarven king, wide paws coming down fast. And then, in a flurry of white fur and teeth, they were gone.

Azog rolled to his feet from where he'd been thrown, eyes wide and incredulous. Thorin dared not look away, and instead charged the larger fighter. Azog sneered in contempt, simply swinging his mace. The many edged weapon caught Thorin across the face and he fell.

From his new vantage point on the ground, he could see the second battle between the white warg and...something else. Its fur was whiter than the stars, unmarred by scar or dapple where it was untouched by blood. Its snout was longer than its opponent's, its skull more elegantly shaped. Huge paws tossed the warg aside, its eyes bright with anger and firelight. Pink lips pulled back in a snarl, the beast dwarfed the warg as Azog did Thorin, fangs as long as his forearms piercing flesh.

Thorin was pulled from the ground abruptly, pain erupting through his back. Azog's metal hook drug along along his shoulder blade and he screamed in agony. Gritting his teeth against the pain, he brought his sword around, cutting across the orc's chest. Azog yelled and tossed Thorin across the clearing. His back met stone jarringly, his mouth falling open in a silent cry. Cold steel touched his throat and he looked up at Azkg's second. An irrational anger filled him. Would his enemy truly let this - this lesser fighter slay him? He didn't get the chance to find out.

A low growl filled the air and the armored orc backed away hastily. White paws, now bloodied, stepped over Thorin and stumbled. The beast that had taken the white warg was standing, though not for much longer. Blood soaked the lowered head, and one ear was all but gone, but it stood before Azog as a she-wolf defending its pups.

The pale orc said something and his second raised his blade, side stepping the beast so intent on his master. Then, in a flash of red, the orc was taken down by a hobbit.  _His_  hobbit. He watched the little man kill the orc, then the darkness that had been creeping into his vision overtook him.


	20. A Ballad

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to skip. Just Ilma's POV for the last scene. Simplified. Not many like it.

Symbols of autumn

The pines are gently swaying

Slow falling needles

 

Seeking penance for

The ice of the warrior

One apology

 

Fall becomes winter

Light dies before snow and frost

Much sorrow is felt

 

Bright eyes in the trees

Suddenly, they are fire

Without sound, falling claws

 

Tendrils of the wood

Spurring onward, onward

Bitter taste of fur

 

They cry where they lay

Broken, abused, and shattered

Voices unblaming

 

Enveloping warmth

Fire raging at the moon

Broken bones, they bleed

 

The dominance

Of the better fighter is

Unquestioned, unsure

 

Sure as the tide comes

Blood covers stone covers shield

It lays abandoned

 

Blue eyes, cruel and pale

Shame and fear mate and become

Sorrowful vengeance

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you did read, what did you think?


	21. Elf, Schmelf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oooh~, Thori~n. 〜(￣▽￣〜)

When Thorin came to, the first thing he saw was Gandalf, and the rising sun behind him. All around him knelt his comrades, battered and bruised but smiling.

"Where's the hobbit?"

Gandalf smiled. "Don't worry. Bilbo is here. He is safe."

Thorin struggled to his feet, grudgingly accepting help from his fellow dwarves. The look of relief on the hobbit's face was like a blow to the gut.

"You!" He began, his tone harsher than he anticipated. "What were you doing? You could have been killed." Bilbo's face fell, and Thorin lowered his voice. "Did I not say you would be a burden? That you would not survive in the wild? That you had no place amongst us?" Thorin swallowed hard as the smaller man looked away, fighting tears. "I have never been so wrong."

Bilbo stood stiffly in Thorin's rough hug as the dwarves cheered behind them. Pullin away, their king was quick to hide his smile.

"I'm sorry I doubted you."

"No, it's alright. I would have doubted me, too." Bilbo gave a self depricating laugh. "I'm no hero. Or a warrior. Or even a burglar."

The Company shared a laugh as great eagles flew overhead. Thorin could only assume that they were how he'd come to be on the plateau.

"Ah," Gandalf began, his eyes on the sky. "Here she comes. Quickly, all of you, behind me. Thorin, stay where you are."

Confused, Thorin followed the wizard's gaze. A giant eagle, larger than its kin, was descending upon the carrock, its mighty wingspan blocking the sun. It was an impressive beast, to be sure, but it was its snarling cargo that caught - and held - his attention.

By Mahal, it was the animal that had fought the white warg! The eagle dropped it gently on the rock, the beating of its wings sending great gusts of wind down on the Company. As the sunlight hit the carrock once more, Thorin saw his savior for what it was - a wolf, or kin to one. As tall as he at the shoulder, it cut a menacing figure even as it lay bleeding on the rock.

"Gandalf," Ori asked hesitantly. "What is that?"

 _"That,_ " Gandalf replied. "Is your dear friend, Ilma. Guardian of the wood."

The dwarves burst into conversation and the wolf's - elf's - one ear lay flat on her head. With a guilty start, Thorin realized that her injuries had come of defending  _him._ From his own stupidity, no less. Just like Bilbo. Setting his shoulders back, he took a step forward.

She didn't growl, only locked her eyes with his. He knew well that she could snap him in two, should she wish it.

"What is he doing?" Someone whispered harshly behind him. He ignored them.

"You were right," he said quietly as he approached her. "Wargs can't climb. The cave floor was hollow. I am not mad. And I have been cruel. You were right, so very right." He reached out, touching her tattered ear. Her fur was soft beneath his fingers, and he could feel her hidden strength as she turned to face him. Her hot breath blew across his face as he held hers between his hands. "Ilma," he said thickly. "You were right."

A gentle breeze ruffled her fur, light glaring off the white strands. Thorin turned away, closing his eyes. He opened them in shock when a small hand clasped his wrist. The elf was smiling up at him, tears running freely down her cheeks.

"Of course, I was. I always am."

Thorin marveled at the magic of her for a moment before regaining his composure and noticing that her hair was the only thing lending any semblance of modesty to their situation. He looked away, suddenly uncomfortable. Shrugging out of his overcoat, he lay it gently over her back. Her smile widened and she looked as if she might speak, but her expression twisted as she fell into a coughing fit. She swayed, and would have fallen had she been standing. As it was, she leaned awkwardly to one side and retched, blood spilling from her lips onto the stone. She stared at the blood on her hands and her face fell in anguish.

"By the Valar. What have I done?"

"What any of your kind would have done in your position." Gandalf said, suddenly beside them. His hands held her upright as she swayed again.

"I doubt that," she snorted hoarsely. "Elves aren't exactly the charitable sort." She coughed again and Gandalf gave her a stern look. She waved him off, "I'm fine. I just need...trees..."

She swooned.

"What's wrong with her?" Bilbo asked, and for the first time Thorin noticed the ring of grimfaced dwarves that had formed around them.

"It is as I feared," the old wizard said gravely, his hand hovering over her face. "Her injuries go deeper than I have the power to heal."

Thorin felt his blood go cold. "What do we do?"

The look in Gandalf's eyes was unreadable. " We must take her to the Ents."

They descended quickly, Ilma once again in Thorin's arms. She truly was small for an elf - barely as tall as Dwalin, perhaps taller. She roused a few times, delirious mostly, and sometimes confused.

"I like your beard," she said in a moment of clarity, reaching up to touch it. "It's very manly."

Thorin clenched his jaw as his nephews snickered behind him. Her short fingernails combed through his beard gently, a small smile on her face.

"I like it."

"How much farther?" He called ahead to Gandalf.

"Not far," the wizard replied over his shoulder. "We're here."

The trees around them seemed to shift, closing in behind them. The ground shook and the dwarves drew their weapons. Thorin adjusted his grip on Ilma, holding her close against his chest. She had other ideas, however, and reached out as far as he was willing to let her.

"Nana!" She cried with childlike enthusiasm. The tremors grew stronger and the company restless.

"Ah!" Gandalf exclaimed, obviously surprised. "Willowsong, I was not expecting  _you._ "

The source of the rumbling earth revealed itself, thundering slowly into view. At first, Thorin couldn't believe what he was seeing. It was only once the tree spoke that he could fit it -her- into his reality.

"Mithrandir," the giant willow said in a breathy voice. "You've brought my child with you."

"No wonder she likes trees so much," Kili said irreverently. Thorin glared at him over his shoulder.

"Yes, stone-child. That is why," the Ent said gently. "She is my child. Has been for centuries." The ancient being slowly went down on one knee, reaching for Ilma with giant hands. Thorin reluctantly gave her over, her scent of earth and sun clinging to him. A chill ran its way down his spine and he remembered she still wore his fur overcoat.

"My child is broken, Mithrandir." Willowsong said angrily. "Why is she broken?"

Gandalf opened his mouth to reply, but Thorin stepped forward before he could speak.

"She saved my life," he said honestly. "Without her, I would not be here."

The Ent hummed to herself as she cradled her daughter like an infant. "You speak truth stone-king. For this, I will grant you a boon."

"Heal her," he said quickly, and the tree woman's twiggy eyebrows rose.

"This is all you ask?"

"I brought your child to you broken," he answered. "I would take her from you whole."

Those brows furrowed deeply. "You know not what you ask, stone-king."

"Isn't she your daughter?" Gloin asked angrily. "Don't you want to help her?"

The trees grew suddenly still and the Company glared at Gloin as one.

"It is not a matter of wanting," Willowsong said calmly. "But of caring. My child was already broken when she came to me, stone-king," she added wearily. "I have not healed her for fear that the breaking was for the best. If I do as you ask, she will be whole. And different. Do you want this?"

Thorin exchanged an uncertain glance with Balin before stepping forward with his head held high. "We do." So long as she was alive.

The Ent nodded solemnly. "Do you accept responsibility for this life you will change?"

He squared his shoulders. "You have my word."

She pulled away, humming in her strange, moaning language. Soon, other voices joined in her song, and it took Thorin a moment to realize that they belonged to the trees, not hidden Ents. A sudden wind moved Willowsong's draping boughs, and they hid Ilma from view. Several anxious minutes passed before a small, plaintive cry rang out against the singing.

"Ada? Mi van me, Ada?"

Thorin's heart wrenched guiltily at the fear in the voice he'd come to know, to expect. He took a hesitant step forward.

"Hanar?" The panic was almost too much, but he pushed aside the willow branches anyway.

Tears were falling freely from her wide, frightened eyes as she turned to him. The blood was gone, all of it, and she held his overcoat tightly closed. Her gaze darted from him to someone behind him, and he turned to see Gandalf and the rest of the Company.

Gandalf drew a deep breath. "Ilma-."

"Ma istanyen?"

"What happened to 'I don't speak elvish'?" Gloin muttered bitterly. Fili elbowed him.

"Iston i nif gin," she continued, her wide eyes locked on Thorin. "Man esselya na?"

He looked to Gandalf for assistance.

The old wizard laughed good naturedly. "Go on, tell her your name."

He swallowed, suddenly nervous that she might have forgotten him even as she remembered herself. "Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror."

"T'orín," she repeated, frowning. Hesitantly, she reached out with first one then both hands, taking his face between them. She ran her fingers through his beard, over his nose and cheekbones, and along his hairline. "T'orín..." Her frown melted into blessed recognition. "Thorin! Gi melin, Thorin!" She threw her arms around his neck, laughing loudly.

A wave of relief rolled over the Company, and a few happy chuckles were exchanged.

"Fili! Kili!" she yelled over his shoulder. "Ori, Nori, Dori! Bifur, Bofur, Bombur! Oin, Gloin, Balin, Dwalin, Bilbo! My friends!"

"Finally," Fili laughed. " A language we understand."

She laughed with them a moment before pulling away from Thorin, a stunned look on her face. "I speak elvish. I have a  _brother_!" She exclaimed, slapping her hands against her face in shock. "Oh, what must he think of me? I've been gone so long."

Thorin watched as she berated herself and introduced the Company to Willowsong alternatively as new memories struck her. She was the same. He'd been so afraid - no, he wouldn't think of it. She was safe. And he'd keep her that way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ilma's Elvish:
> 
> Nana: Mommy
> 
> Ada: Daddy
> 
> Mi van me: Where are you?
> 
> Hanar: Brother
> 
> Ma istanyen: Do I know you?
> 
> Iston i nif gin: I know your face
> 
> Man esselya na: What is your name?
> 
> Gi melin: I love you (But don't tell Thorin) 
> 
> Ｏ(≧▽≦)Ｏ


	22. Bears, Oh My!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bad Dwarves! Bad!

Ilma sat contritely on a relatively small boulder at the bottom of a very rocky hill. Bilbo had gone up earlier for a better vantage point, and the Company anxiously awaited his return. She, especially, couldn't wait for him to get back. The hobbit was the only one who didn't treat her as if she was made of glass. Even Fili and Kili were "gentler" with her. She'd expected a change after revealing her true self, but that was ridiculous. If anything, they should be more comfortable knowing she wouldn't snap like a twig. Even Thorin -

Bilbo came running down the rocky track, and the Company leapt to its feet.

"How close is the pack?" Thorin asked, sword drawn.

"Too close. A couple of leagues, no more." Bilbo took a steadying breath that only Ilma seemed to notice. "But  _that_ is not the worst of it."

"The wargs picked up our scent," Dwalin said dejectedly, and the sentiment seemed to spread to the other dwarves.

"Not yet," Bilbo corrected, and was interrupted.

"They will, though." Again, disappointment rippled through the Company. It was actually quite amusing.

"We have another problem-."

"They saw you."

_Oh, Gandalf, not you, too._

Bilbo shook his head and Ilma could practically feel his exasperation. "No, that's  _not_  it!"

Gandalf interrupted him again, nodding and smiling as if nothing was amiss. A scent came on the wind, and Ilma stood slowly, tightening her grip on her makeshift belt where it held her -Thorin's- vest closed.

"Will you just listen?" Bilbo finally shouted. "I am trying to tell you that there is something else out there!"

The dwarves all seemed to shrink with discouragement.

"Which form did it take?" Gandalf asked, and Ilma turned to look sharply at him. "Like a bear?"

"Ye-," Bilbo stopped himself, glancing at Ilma before continuing. "Yes, only bigger. Much bigger."

There was a pregnant pause, heavy with trepidation.

"You knew about the beast?" Bofur asked accusingly, and the old wizard had the grace to look guilty before walking away.

"I say we double back," Bofur continued.

"We'll be overrun by a pack of orcs," Thorin replied, harshly but not unkindly, after which the dwarves fell into aimless chatter. Ilma rolled her eyes and made to say that, if it really was a bear, then she was more than capable of handling negotiations.

"There  _is_  a house," Gandalf said suddenly. "Not far from here where we may take refuge."

llma sighed and tried to keep from pouting. It seemed no matter how hard she tried, everyone was intent on ignoring her.

"Whose house?" Thorin asked derisively, and Ilma felt just the tiny bit glad. "Is he friend or foe?"

"Neither," Gandalf replied haughtily. "He will help us, or he will kill us."

Or she could ask the bear politely not to kill them while they were all still bickering.

Thorin's shoulder's drooped ever so slightly as he sighed. "What choice do we have?"

A roar sounded from behind the hill and Gandalf gave a curt "None." before Ilma could even mention her wonderfully perfect plan.

_Men!_


	23. Oh, No He Didn't!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gandalf....why?

Thorin lead the way as the Company ran through the marshland. His boots were heavy with wet from the river, but he dared not slow his pace. A glance behind told him his men were safe, if winded, and the elf ran ahead. Her stride no longer restricted by the skirts of her people, she ran with all the grace and fluidity one might expect from an elf. In fact, Ilma had been acting far more...  _elf like_... since her healing. The memory of her fear and confusion had his throat clenching, and he quickly shook the thought away as the Company entered a thin forest.

A resounding roar rose above the trees, and they all froze in their tracks.

"This way! Quickly!"

The dwarves wasted no time following Gandalf's order, but Ilma hung back, her eyes on the sky.

Thorin grabbed her arm and pulled her along behind him. "Hurry! We don't have time for this."

To his surprise, she didn't respond. She didn't even roll her eyes. The taller woman simply jerked her arm from his grip and ran back to her place at the head of the group.

Dumbfounded, Thorin stood still for a moment, only to remember why she was running. Why  _he_ should be running.

The Company left the cover of the trees and Gandalf shouted over his shoulder at them.

"The house! Run!"

To everyone's surprise, Bombur sped up until he was up beside the elf, his immense girth bouncing.

Sprinting through the front gate, the dwarves collided with the front door forcefully. Thorin turned, eyes widening in horror as a great black bear burst from the treeline. It was massive, and full with a terrible anger as it charged on the homestead. Thorin turned away from the beast, pushing his way through his men and lifting the latch that none of them had noticed. The Company tumbled inside, turning about instantly to shove the doors closed. The bear rammed into them, forcing the dwarves back. Dwalin reached up and brought down the bolt, locking the beast out.

It roared in protest, and Ori asked, terrified, "What is that?"

"That," Gandalf answered in that way he had. "Is our host."

The dwarves all turned to look at him, incredulous expressions on their tired faces.

"His name is Beorn," the wizard continued as he lead the way deeper into the house. "He's a skin changer. Sometimes he's a huge, black bear, sometimes he's a great, strong man. The bear is unpredictable, but the man can be reasoned with. However," he said sharply, casting a warning glance at Kili. "He's not overfond of dwarves." The princeling wisely put down the object he'd been inspecting.

Back at the door, Ori whispered loudly. "He's leaving."

His brother, Dori, pulled him away from the entrance, hissing. "Come away from there! It's not natural, none of it. It's obvious. He's under some dark spell."

"Don't be a fool," Gandalf snapped. "Is Ilma, then, under the same spell? They are under no enchantment but their own."

As the wizard walked off to speak with Bilbo and Bofur, Thorin stroked his beard pensively. There were certainly similarities between the bear and his elf. Speaking of which...

Where was she?

"Gandalf," he called, perhaps a bit too sharply. "Where is the elf?"

"Hm?" The wizard looked around as if just noticing she wasn't there. "Well, I imagine she elected to stay behind. Beorn's leaving was probably her doing."

"Y-you mean she's outside?" Bilbo asked, eyes darting frantically between Thorin, Gandalf, and the door. "Isn't it dangerous out there?"

"Nonsense," Gandalf scoffed. "Beorn is no more capable of hurting Ilma than she is of hurting him. They are the last of their kind, and neither has met the other before now. One would hope," he concluded with a dangerous twinkle in his eyes. "That this would be the start of a beautiful friendship."


	24. I'm Not Alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Awwwwwwwwwww~~~!(~￣▽￣)~

Ilma watched the bear as it rammed itself against the massive double doors, bellowing its anger. A niggling of doubt tugged at her mind, demanding to know why she'd stayed outside when everyone else had rushed to safety. The answer was quite simple, really.

She'd never been in danger to begin with. As anyone who'd bothered to ask would have known.

 **"Hello,"**  she called out in the ancient language of the bears.  **"May I ask your name?"** It was always important to be polite.

The great beast stopped its growling, massive head turning to look at her. The intensity of its gaze had her frozen to the spot, and she resisted the urge to back away as it approached.

 **"Elf?"** It asked, language halted and half formed.

Ilma raised her head.  **"Yes, I am an elf. May I ask your name?"**

The dark eyes seemed to become alight with some inner knowledge. Again, when it spoke it was as if the language was unfamiliar.  **"You are visitor?"**

Ilma nodded, her head to the side so eye contact wasn't broken.  **"Yes, I do not mean to intrude. May I ask your name?"** Repetition was sometimes necessary.

It chuffed, almost a laugh, and it turned away, walking into the night. Ilma hesitated.

**"Follow."**

Silently, she fell into step behind it, biting her lip as she looked back at the giant cottage. Then her indignance raised its ugly head, and she turned away spitefully.

Quiet mist rolled in from the mountains, covering the valley floor. The green hills were cast in shades of blue and grey as the sun ducked behind the horizon, leaving the sky the inky black of twilight. At a thin line of trees, the bear suddenly reared, bracing itself against a spindly aspen.

 **"Are you alright?"** Ilma rushed to its side, only to stop as the bear made the painful transition to man. He was a skin changer.

Like her.

"I apologize," he said in a voice like smooth granite. "I know not the words to reply in the old language. It has been so long since I used it."

Normally, such a lapse would be inexcusable, especially for a bear. Right then, however, she'd have forgiven murder.

"My name," he continued. "Is Beorn. And I had thought I was the last."

Ilma's hands flew to her mouth, tears burning her eyes. Of course, he knew her for what she was. How could he not?

In the darkness, his massive form seemed even larger, but it was with gentle hands that he cupped her cheeks. Dark eyes searched her face, and she blinked, letting loose her tears.

"You are a wolf."

She nodded, wiping her tears away. "Yes, I am."

Beorn heaved a world weary sigh. "Not the last, but still the last it seems."

Ilma nodded again, unwilling to let her joy be tempered. A wolf and a bear might not be able to breed, but they could still delight in each other's company. In the idea of having someone like them in the world. Finally, here was someone who knew the life of an oddity, an exhibit. Not even her brother had understood, and she loved him dearly.

Smiling, she took his hand in hers, leading him back down the hills. "Come," she said. "Let us speak over a meal."

Beorn smiled back, unaware of how bearlike the expression was.


	25. A Short Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Get it? Short?

Thorin woke with an ache in his back. And shoulder. And everywhere. With the adrenaline gone, he was truly feeling his wounds. Sitting up slowly, he looked over the rest of the Company, all of whom were sleeping. The faintest lights of dawn were filtering in through the gaps in the boarding, and he scowled. Inefficient building always soured his mood.

"Hello."

His body tensed and he whirled to face Ilma where she stood a few paces away. His body screamed in pain and he could not stifle a groan. "What are you doing here?" He asked through gritted teeth.

She frowned, her bottom lip pouting as it often did. "Should I not be here?"

He sighed, "No, that is not what I meant."

She smiled dazzlingly. "Good. Breakfast will be ready soon; I came to wake you up." She studied the snoring Company, hands on hips as she tutted like a mother hen. Then she turned her violet eyes on him. "Do me a favor and wake them? I need to get a poultice ready for that shoulder of yours."

"I'm fine-."

She snorted, cutting him off. "You do realize that Azog's claw-thing scraped your bone, yes? If it isn't seen to, it will putrefy. Just ask Oin if you don't believe me."

He did. That wasn't the problem.

"How did you get inside?" His eyes frantically searched for the door he'd latched the night before.

She laughed off his concern. "Why, Beorn let me in of course."

"Of course," He struggled to his feet, not at all careful who he stepped on. Dwalin grumbled, opening bleary eyes. "The beast is here?"

Her nostrils flared and he realized his error too late.

" _Beorn_  is making breakfast. I will see you at the table." She whirled, her fair hair fanning out behind her as she stomped away angrily.

"Masterfully handled, your majesty," Dwalin chuckled.

Thorin scowled and proceeded to roughly wake the rest of his company.


	26. Breakfast Meeting

Ilma smiled up at Beorn as he poured her a glass of milk. Well, it was more a tankard than a glass, but it was a lot smaller than the glasses the dwarves held. She had a feeling that Beorn didn't like them.

Well, at the moment neither did she.

Mice wound their way around shallow bowls and over hands only to be brushed off carelessly. Ilma snorted. Of course, leave it to dwarves to be more intent on eating than making friends. She cooed at the tiny white mammals who came to greet her, offering them bits of friut and gruel as Beorn addressed the Company. 

"So you are the one they call  _Oakenshield_?" Thorin didn't answer, instead adjusting his arms where they crossed over his chest in some display of male posturing. "Tell me, why is Azog the Defiler hunting you?"

"You know of Azog?" The dwarf king asked, actually looking up from his brooding. "How?"

Ilma refrained from jumping when her giant new friend placed one hand on her shoulder, swallowing it.

"Our people," he began, and Ilma felt a warmth spread in her chest. "Were the first to live in the mountains, before the Orcs came down from the North. The Defiler...killed most of my family, but some he enslaved." Ilma placed a comforting hand over his, looking up at him as he continued. "Not for work, you understand, but for sport. Caging skin changers - torturing them - seemed to amuse him." 

There was a moment of silence as the Company digested that and Beorn made his way around the table, pouring milk into tankards.

"There are others like you?" Bilbo asked, and Ilma hid her wince in her cup.

"Once there were many," the bear answered quietly.

"And now?" Really, Bilbo?

"Now there are only two."

Ilma smiled widely, taking the opportunity to lessen the tension. "That's one more than you thought there were, am I right?"

Beorn chuckled, the sound like grating rocks. "Yes, yes it is, little wolfling."

"Hey, now," she retorted. "I may be little, but I am no child. I'm at least a full millenia, by my reckoning."

"What is that compared to the lives of your people?" Beorn countered, and she pouted as he ruffled her hair. Sobering, he turned back to the dwarves. "You need to reach the mountain before the last days of Autumn?"

"By Durin's day, yes," Gandalf supplied. A surly Thorin glared up at Beorn, his mouth twisted into a frown.

"How can you know this?"

"I told him," Ilma admitted, shrugging away his animosity. "I didn't see any harm in it, and I still don't. He would know better than we how to get there without undue complications. We are running out of time."

"Which is why we must go through Mirkwood." Ilma wouldn't have thought it possible, but Thorin's scowl deepened. One day, his face was going to set that way.

"A darkness lies upon that forest, fell things creep beneath those trees. There is an alliance between the Orcs and the necromancer of Dol Goldur. I would not venture there unless in great need."

Ilmas grip on her cup tightened as Gandalf suggested the elven road, her mind wandering to soft green memories she might never live again.

"Safe?" Beorn's voice brought Ilma back to the present. "The wood elves of Mirkwood are not like their kin. They are less wise, and more dangerous." 

"I like to think we're not all bad," Ilma mumbled, her eyes on Thorin's retreating back. Even from where she sat across the room, she could see the anger in his stance. 

"It matters not," Beorn replied, giving her a reproving look. "These lands are crawling with Orcs. Their numbers are growing, and you are on foot. You will never reach the forest alive."

_Note to self, never spend your life alone with no hope for a future. It will make you morbid._

Beorn stood, closing in on Thorin while holding his gaze. "I don't like dwarves. They're greedy." True _._  "And blind." Um. "Blind to the lives they deem lesser than their own." Ah, also true. The giant skin changer stopped just before Thorin, caressing a mouse, so small in his hand, as he seemed to consider something. "But Orcs I hate more."

Well, obviously.


	27. I'd Forgotten About That

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ufufuun~ Somebady's got a crush.

Thorin scowled into the sunlight as the Company bustled about the courtyard beside Beorn's home. The Skin Changer had been kind enough to lend them a small herd of ponies along with their tack. Gandalf had been provided a spindle legged bay, the human wizard requiring a larger mount.

A soft sound caught his attention, and Thorin turned away from stuffing his saddlebag to see Ilma standing behind him, his neatly folded over-vest in her hands.

Her fingers played nervously with the fur lining as she spoke. "Thank you for letting me borrow this. I don't need it anymore." Indeed, Beorn had provided her with a shirt and trousers, properly clothing her. Thorin took his vest from her, their fingers brushing. Ilma smiled at him, tucking a lock of hair behind one pointed ear and his heart clenched as he realized she was probably going to stay.

And why should she leave?

The only other member of her species was here, and he was more than capable of protecting her. Not that she needed it, of course.

Gandalf drew his mount abreast of them, an odd light in his blue eyes. "Hurry and mount, you fools. We are losing daylight."

Thorin looked at the wizard in surprise as the elf maid dashed away. "She's coming?"

"Should she not?" Gandalf asked. "It is her homeland, and she has been gone a very long time. Besides," he added as she spurred his horse forward. "Navigating an elven forest is far easier with an actual elf along."

_

Ilma waved to him from atop her white mare and Thorin looked away, sighing. Every time he turned, he half expected her to be gone. Blasted woman knew it, too, and took every opportunity to quell his unease. No doubt this agitation was due to their growing proximity to  _Thranduil_ 's realm. The idea of seeing that bastard again...

Best not dwell on it.

Trees rose on the horizon, and the entire Company seemed to deflate - with the exception of its non-dwarven members. Gandalf appeared uneasy, and the hobbit looked only curious, but the elf seemed almost giddy, and her mount fair pranced beneath her. Try as he might, he couldn't blame her. This was as much her homecoming as returning to the Lonely Mountain would be his.

The Company dismounted once they reached the forest outskirts, and Thorin had difficulty keeping his pony calm. Not that he could blame the animal. Mirkwood projected an aura of illness and mal intent that was only to be expected from a land of Elves. He was not the only one to notice this.

"Gandalf," Ilma said quietly as she approached the blackened entryway. "What happened here?"

The old wizard sighed, leaning heavily on his staff. "A darkness has been spreading through the land, and Thranduil has done nothing to stop it."

"Well, someone should give him aught for," Bilbo said, equally disgusted with the forest's health.

The elf maiden's delicate fists clenched angrily. "Yes, someone should."

The dwarves began removing their equipment and supplies from their mounts, turning them loose so they could return to Beorn.

"Wait!" Gandalf called, striding purposefully away from the forest. "Not my horse. I need it!"

"You're not leaving us," the hobbit asked incredulously, and Gandalf shook his head sadly.

"I would not do this if there was not great need." The wizard met Thorin's gaze, and a silent understanding passed between them. Whatever Gandalf left to do, it was grave indeed.

"But do not fret, Master Baggins, for I leave you in capable hands. Ilma," he turned to address the elf. "Knows this wood better than even Thranduil himself."

She snorted. "Only because he never leaves the palace."

Gandalf cleared his throat, "Hmm, yes, well. Be that as it may, even your king's rangers would be hard pressed to match your knowledge of the Mir-ah, Greenwood." He hastily corrected himself under her pointed glare. "Surely you can manage to keep thirteen dwarves and a hobbit on a path?"

Ilma looked mournfully into the trees. "Yes," she sighed. "I suppose I can."

"Very good." Gandalf mounted his spindle legged bay. "Whatever may come, stay on the path!"

Thorin shook his head, exasperated with the situation. "Come," he said, turning to enter the forest. "We must reach the mountain before Durin's day-." He was stopped short by Ilma's hand on his chest.

"It would be safer if I lead the way," she turned an oddly serious gaze on the Company. The air here is thick with illusion. If there is any doubt of your allegiance, the trees will lead you astray."

"What about you?"

She smiled down at him, a matronly expression. "I am an elf."

And that answered that.


	28. Enough is Enough

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I totally didn't run out of plot....(;¬_¬)

Dwarves are wonderful people. They're kind, loyal, understanding, and they're always there when you need them. That said, they are also very racist.

Dwalin was especially vocal.

"This blasted forest is closing in on us," he grumbled just loud enough to be heard. "How long before we reach the end of it?"

Ilma sighed, rolling her eyes for what felt like the thousandth time that day. "If a group of heavily armed elves entered Erebor, I'm sure your mountain would do the same."

More grumbling.

All of the dwarves - and bilbo - had fallen into unease since entering the Greenwood. They had questioned her leadership at first, but, as the light began fading to a hazy red that sank heavily through the canopy, even Dwalin fell silent.

Thorin pulled her aside as the Company stopped to rest.

"Is there some place to rest safely tonight?" He asked quietly. "We could do with a warm meal and some laughter."

And by  _we,_ he meant  _they_. Ilma sighed again. "I know of a place, but kindling must be gathered from fallen wood, and hunting is strictly forbidden. The trees are keeping us secret as it is," she added, looking up at the surrounding giants fondly.

Thorin looked dissatisfied, but he nodded politely. "How long until we reach this haven?"

"We'll be there within the hour, at this pace."

He nodded again and headed off to spread the word.

-

There was little laughter around the fire that night. Even Bofur was unusually subdued. There were no stars above them, only leaves, and the trees leaned forcefully away from the small fire Ilma had allowed. Thorin refused to sit and rest, standing watch at the edge of the clearing she'd lead them to. It pained her to see them like this, so unhappy. Sure, Thorin's brooding was nothing new, but it wasn't supposed to be contagious!

"Why is there no meat?" Dwalin growled, and what little conversation there was died. "Is there a reason why we must make due with hard bread and jerky?"

There was no doubt where that question was directed. "I told you," Ilma said patiently. "The trees specifically requested that we not hunt here. They are already keeping our presence secret and-."

"What do I care if a couple trees call in the elves?" He demanded, standing angrily. "Our girl children are manlier than their men! We would be done with them within the hour."

All were silent as they awaited Ilma's response.

"You dare," her voice shook with barely suppressed rage, her violet eyes alight. "You dare offer my people insult. As a child, I never understood my father's disdain for your people, Master Dwalin, but you have taught me the reason. You lack  _respect_. One word from me, and the entire Woodland Realm will come upon you; without me you would all have lost yourselves to the wiles of the wood, and yet you  _dare_  insult not only me, but my home, my people, and my culture. Let me tell you something,  _dwarf,"_ she all but spat the word as she stomped up to him angrily, towering over him. "Without me, your king would be dead. You'd  _all_ be dead, and Erebor would forever belong to Smaug, as it might yet." _  
_

Her words echoed through the clearing, and Ilma realized with a start that she had dropped the spell that kept her size relatively close to her companions'. Dwalin stood barely taller than her elbow. The Company looked at her with wide eyed astonishment, and she turned away from the fear in their gazes. There was no more speaking that night. _  
_

The next morning, Ilma was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ilma: http://marcianosmx.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/10/mujer_albina_nastya_zhidkova4.jpg


	29. Down the Rabbit Hole

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin is confused.

Antagonizing the elf had been a mistake. After she'd left them, they'd lost the path, then their wits, and were captured by giant spiders. Despite this, no one blamed Dwalin - well, no one save Kili. The truth of the matter was Ilma had ceased being an elf a long time ago. She was a member of the Company, and her race was largely ignored. Of course, this was foolishness on their part, especially after she'd been so considerate as to hide her true height from them for the majority of their time together. She'd had no wish to alienate them, yet they had not acted accordingly.

It was a source of personal shame for Thorin, and, even as the Company fought for their lives, he did not blame her for leaving. He only wished-.

Suddenly, the Company was surrounded by elves, arrows trained at their hearts. The elf before Thorin drew his bow tighter.

"Do not think I won't kill you, dwarf," he sneered. "It would be my pleasure."

Thorin almost dared the elf to follow through with his threat, but Kili's cries claimed his attention. The boy was saved by a she-elf, and Thorin breathed a sigh of relief as his nephew rejoined the group. The feeling was short lived as the elves began searching the Company, removing their weapons and rifling through their personals, as if speaking in a tongue they could not understand were not insulting enough. Upon seeing Orcrist, the head elf turned to Thorin almost angrily.

"Where did you get this?" He demanded.

"It was given to me," Thorin replied with as much calm as he could muster.

The elf looked at him sharply, disbelief clear on his face. He turned the blade easily, settling its point beneath Thorin's chin with a flick of his wrist. "Not jsut a thief," he spat. "But a liar as well."

Thorin bristled under the elf's hooded gaze, and would have spoken in anger, but soft laughter tinkled down from the trees, distracting everyone on the forest floor.

"Really, hanar," Ilma said, landing gracefully on the raised root of an old oak. "You are too dramatic."

The elves burst into whispers, and the one holding Orcrist approached Ilma, blue eyes wide. "Man cerig, neth?"

She rolled her eyes skyward, and she climbed down from the root. Every movement portrayed anger and exasperation, but it rang false to Thorin. Even as she stormed past the taller elf, he could only see her actions as an act. An elaborate one, but an act all the same.

The elves obviously lacked his perspective.

"Hanar, didn't anyone tell you that it is rude to speak a language your guests don't understand?" She said coyly, smiling at the Company as she turned back the other elf. "These dwarves travel with me, and are neither thieves nor liars."

"Who are you to speak so to the Lord Legolas?" A dark haired elf demanded, and Ilma looked at him with palpable pity.

"You're letting children into the guard, now, hanar? Father must be desperate, indeed." The elf scowled, and she turned back to  _Legolas_. "Are you going to let us continue on our way, or must there be conflict?"

Legolas narrowed his eyes, coming back to himself visibly. "I am afraid, neth, that you must come with me. You  _and_ your dwarves. Thranduil will want to speak with you now that you have returned."

Ilma sighed. "Of course, he will." She looked at Thorin over her shoulder, an unreadable expression in her eyes. "Very well, take us to him."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elvish:
> 
> Hanar - Brother  
> Neth - Sister  
> Man cerig - What are you doing?


	30. The Future Awaits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Legolas is a daddy's boy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is sort of an interlude between story arcs. I was going to italicize the elvish to distinguish it, but it was the only language being spoken, so I decided against it. In future chapters, elvish spoken - and understood - in the presence of others who don't know the language, will be in italicized English. Khuzdul in the same scenario will be in bold. I'm so excited! Things are shaping up!

 

The giant double doors of her childhood home slammed closed behind her, and Ilma swallowed her dread. Her brother had glared at the dwarves the entire way to the palace, and she was fairly certain there would be conflict, and soon. Seeing Tauriel again was nice, though she'd grown more serious over the centuries. Her infatuation with Legolas was just as strong as before, however, and Ilma felt for her friend. Her father would never allow a union between his son and a Sylvan elf, never mind that the Woodland elves had only been elevated to Eldar status  _after_ Thranduil's birth.

Legolas caught hold of Ilma's arm, pulling her aside as the dwarves were escorted elsewhere.

_Dungeons most likely,_  Ilma thought bitterly.

"Sister," Legolas said in their native tongue. "Must you continue to claim these dwarves as guests? Father will-."

"Father can go kiss an orc!" she snarled, pulling her arm from his grasp. "You would not have found them had I not left their side. I will not shirk that responsibility."

Her brother sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose in exasperation. "Why must you be so stubborn? How do you suppose he will feel? You gone these past five hundred years to return only to leave."

Ilma scoffed, crossing her arms angrily. "You know as well as I do that all he cares about is his pride. A daughter with a will of her own is a disgrace."

His blue eyes were stormy, but Ilma held his gaze. He looked away first.

"At least bathe first. Present yourself as his child, not a stranger. Give him that."

Ilma sighed, forcibly relaxing her stance. "Very well, then." She caught her brother's shoulder when he made to leave. "Treat them well, brother."

He gave her a jerky nod, turning to his men and barking orders as Ilma slipped away to the bathing chamber.


	31. Daddy's Girl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bad daddy.

Thranduil's palace was magnificent, with spiraling staircases and green filtered light that gave everything a mystical air. It's beauty was without question, but Thorin couldn't help but feel like he'd been swallowed by some great beast. The walls around him were alive, pulsing, whispering. That the elves lived there was testament to their madness.

He had been separated from the Company as they were lead to what he assumed was a prison. The elf who'd pulled Ilma aside was nowhere to be seen, and the elves that held him would not meet his gaze. They stood at his sides, still as stone, for half an hour before acting on some signal Thorin could not see, leading him up a branch turned bridge, and up a low staircase that leveled out into a wide platform. There, at the top of yet another set of stairs, was a throne, a pale crowned figure upon it.

Thranduil rose lithely, his robes trailing behind him as he stepped down to stand beside Thorin, dismissing his guards with a graceful wave of his hand.

"Some have made mention," the elf king said, his voice ringing through his halls. "Of a noble quest at hand. A quest to reclaim a homeland, and slay a dragon." He looked at Thorin then. his gaze piercing blue beneath his dark brows. "I, myself, suspect a more prosaic motive: attempted burglary for something of value." He twisted himself down so his face was level with Thorin's. "You have found a way in."

He backed away, an infuriatingly smug expression on his face. "You seek that which would bestow upon you the right to rule. The king's jewel, the Arkenstone."

Thorin had to look away. That this elf had managed to guess all he sought to keep secret...

"It is precious to you beyond measure." Thranduil smiled. "I understand that. There are gems in the mountain that I, too, desire. White gems, of pure starlight. I offer you my help."

The unspoken  _in exchange_ hung loudly between them, and Thorin scoffed. "I am listening."

"I will let you go," Thranduil said. "If you but return to me what is mine. After all," he added looking at something behind Thorin. "You've already done so."

Thorin turned, expecting some jewel or momento of happier times between their peoples. He was not, however, expecting Ilma.

She stood as tall as any elf, her white hair clean and falling in waves about her stoic face. She was wearing a dress, the white fabric pooling about her feet, despite the fabric her clenched fists held.

"Ada," she said, voice strong and clear as she walked past Thorin without acknowledging him. "You do me insult."

"How so, my daughter?" Thranduil asked, arms opening as if to embrace Ilma.

She stopped short of his hug. "You have taken my guests into custody, delaying their journey. I would see them released."

Thorin glanced frantically from father to child, wishing dearly that they were playing some elaborate joke.

The wide eyed expression on Thranduil's face was too like Ilma for that doubt to remain. "As would I, daughter. But there are forms to be upheld-."

Ilma made a violent motion with her hand, startling some of the guards into defensive positions. "Since when is extortion a motion of law?"

Thranduil grew serious, a cold light entering his eyes. "What would you have me do? Leave our heritage in the hands of heathens?"

Ilma lifted her chin proudly. "I would have you treat my guests with the proper courtesy."

"And if I do not?"

"Then treat me as your prisoner."


	32. Bonding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ilma and Thorin, sitting in a cell.

_"Then treat me as your prisoner!"_

When she'd said those words, Ilma had expected her father to give in to her demands, if only to preserve family pride.

_Apparently, I am no longer family_ , she thought glumly as she watched Thorin pace the length of their shared cell. In the hours they'd spent together, he hadn't said a word to her, and any look he gave her quickly turned into a glare.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly. "I don't know what I did, but I'm sorry."

He scowled bestially. "How can you not? You know what he did, how he abandoned my people!"

"And in doing so, saved many of mine," she answered smartly.

He turned away from her, grumbling in khuzdul.

She sighed heavily. "Thorin, my people don't breed easily. One child is a blessing, treasured by the whole race. No father would have allowed their child to fight Smaug, nor would their fathers allow  _them_ , or  _their_ fathers. That Thranduil managed to raise an army at all is impressive. If he had made them fight the result of one dwarf's greed," she shook her head. "He would not be king."

"Do you think that matters?" He asked coldly. "Not fighting is permissible, but not offering aid? Food, shelter? Nothing! He spun around, frowning thunderously. "Inexcusable!"

"My father is a good king," she replied calmly. "Perhaps not a good man, but you'd be surprised how rarely those two coincide."

Their conversation was interrupted by an elven guard knocking on the cell door.

" _Prince Legolas wishes to speak with you privately, your Highness,"_ he said stiffly.

Ilma glanced at Thorin before answering. " _Tell prince Legolas he can come get me himself."_

The guard shifted his weight nervously before leaving to deliver her message. It had been a favorite pass time of theirs once, using the guards to pass silly, meaningless messages to each other. She wondered if Legolas remembered.

"What did he want?" Thorin asked curtly, and Ilma turned to him in surprise.

"My brother wishes to speak with me," she replied, smiling. "Why?"

Thorin scowled. "Must you use the elf tongue for something so frivolous?"

She raised an eyebrow at him. "I  _am_  an elf, Thorin, no matter how badly you wish otherwise. I will use the tongue of my people whenever I wish. That I have not before coming here has been partially inability and partially respect for you. Continue as you are, however, and I will be forced to reconsider my stance on your imprisonment."

His blue eyes were wide as he regarded her, and Ilma feared for a moment that she had irreparably burned a bridge. Then he sighed.

"You are correct," he said tiredly. "And I apologize. You are not your father."

She snorted. "A fact I thank the Valar for everyday. Have you seen his eyebrows?" She shuddered. "They could be caterpillars and no one would question it because he's king."

Thorin's brow furrowed, and Ilma sighed. Her humor was lost on dwarves.


	33. Separation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while, but hey! It's here.

Thorin sighed again as he leaned against the bars of his cell. Most of the Company had since given up on trying to force their way out, and were quietly conversing among themselves. The elvish guard had returned to speak with Ilma on several occasions, and she maintained that her brother was calling for her, though he doubted it.

It was still difficult to believe that the woman who'd risked her life to safe his was the child of his enemy. At the same time, it was painfully obvious now that he knew. She had the same wide-eyed expressions as her father, and the way she'd carried herself in the throne room was no less noble than Thranduil's bearing. She had become more serious since regaining her memories in the Entwood, but she still smiled broadly whenever he looked at her.

"Thorin."

He looked up, startled, and saw Bilbo, keys in hand, outside his cell. He smiled, and the others all gave shouts of acclaim. The little man shushed them, rightly.

"There are guards nearby," he said as he unlocked Thorin and Ilma's cell, and they all settled their voices to whispers. Still smiling, Thorin looked up at Ilma, standing tall beside him. Her expression was grim, and he followed her gaze up, where her kin held some kind of celebration. The Company rushed past them up the stairs, but Bilbo ushered them the opposite direction, and she focused on him with animal awareness.

"You are using the river," she said calmly, and Bilbo nodded. She smiled. "That is good, they won't think to look for you there."

"Are you not coming, lass?" Bofur asked, his expression mirroring Thorin's concern.

The elf princess shook her head. "My brother is a suspicious man, and he will check for you soon. I can distract him, buy you time."

"You don't have to do that," Fili insisted, and her smile became wistful.

"Oh, but I do. I've been putting him off all night. Don't worry," she added when the rest of the Company began to protest. "I'll catch up with you. It won't take him too long to realize that I'm stalling him." She sighed heavily, looking up the staircase. "Besides, I really do owe him."

The Company grudgingly accepted her decision, rushing down the stairs after Bilbo. Thorin lagged behind, and she turned to him with the smile she reserved for him.

Curtsying, she said, "Farewell, your majesty."

A lump caught in his throat. She meant it as a joke, but he could not stop himself from bowing in return. "Your highness."

Her smile was bitter as he rose, and that was the image he carried as he followed his men to freedom.


	34. I'm Not Pretty When I Cry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What a sad reunion.

Ilma sighed tiredly as she watched the dwarves descend. How odd it was, to finally come home and still long to leave. Looking up the spiral staircase that was both familiar and foreign, she tried to imagine her brother's expression once he learned why she'd come to speak with him. She couldn't, or didn't want to, and began her resigned ascent. At the top of the stairs, the sounds of revelry were louder, and she couldn't help but smile at the memories they touched. Turning away from the celebration, she followed a path made of living trees, her footsteps unusually loud.

Would he hate her? Would he reject her?

She clutched at the white cloth above her heart. Her father's ire she could bear with dignity, but Legolas... Her brother had always been dearest to her. Even after she'd lost her memories and been fed half and ancient truths by the ent who'd found her, she knew there had to be someone waiting for her, somewhere. After a few centuries, she'd stop letting it nag at her so, and had thrown every bit of herself into the training Radagast had offered her. She knew things none of her people would ever consider teaching their young, and had ideas her father would dismiss out of principle.

Suddenly cold, she wrapped her arms around herself. If this was the home she longed for, she'd rather be lost.

Legolas' chamber was close to the entrance, as fitting one so active in the guard. Ilma hesitated before knocking, her hand hovering above the door.

It wasn't too late to leave.

Unfortunately, it was, as Legolas opened the door, not at all surprised to see her.

"I was wondering when you would give in," he said, leading the way into the nostalgic chamber. "Although, I confess, I didn't expect it to be so soon."

She smiled slightly as he sat in a low chair beside a table. "I have grown less patient over the centuries, I'm afraid."

He regarded her from over folded hands, blue eyes serious. Finally, he asked the question that had stood between them since their meeting in the wood. "Why didn't you return sooner."

Sighing, she sat in the chair beside his, taking his hands in hers. "You know I would have were I able. Nothing could have kept me away."

"But something did." She looked away, unsure of how to explain, but he caught her chin, forcing her gaze back to his. "Tell me."

Gathering her courage, she forced her mind back to the day that had torn them apart. "You know the ravine just south of the glen just outside our west border? Well," she continued at his nod. "I was hunting near there on the eve of the summer solstice, had been for a week to escape the celebrations."

Her brother smiled at some memory. "You never did like crowds."

She cleared her throat. "Yes, well. I was hunting and...," she trailed off. "I think I fell. It isn't clear, even now. For half a millenia, I forgot  _everything_. Everything except my name." She looked over his shoulder, tears pricking her eyes. "I would still be ignorant of the truth had I not accompanied the dwarves on their journey."

Legolas was quiet for too long before he spoke. "And so you will leave with them."

She nodded, the motion sending tears down her cheeks. He stood, walking angrily out onto the balcony they'd climbed as children. She could not,  _would_  not let him see her crying after so long apart. She would not.

Despite her determination, the tears continued to fall, and she heard him approach her. Before either of them could say anything, his door flew open.

"Your Highness, the dwarves are gone!"


	35. Heartfelt Pain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another Goodbye

Thorin sputtered as water entered his mouth. While uncomfortable, escaping in barrels no one would miss was genius thinking on the Hobbit's part. He only wished...

Approaching light disturbed his thoughts, and he couldn't help but smile as an open floodgate came into view. Soon, they'd be free.

He refused to dwell on the fact that they had neither weapons nor armor until a later date.

Just as his barrel was about to pass beneath the stone bridge and out into the river proper, a horn sounded in the palace, and the gate closed. An automatic mechanism.

Vocalizing angrily, he shook the iron bars, water sloshing into the barrel to soak his feet. Cries of dismay sounded behind him, and he turned in time to see several armed elves marching toward them, spears in hand.

Had Ilma failed?

Suddenly, one of the elves jerked back violently, collapsing onto the stones with a black arrow in his chest.

Thorin scowled as he recognized the arrow's make. "Orcs." Turning to the rest of the Company, he quickly claimed their attention. "We need to open the gate! Quickly!"

He was trapped against the bars, and he watched with tense apprehension as Kili climbed out of his barrel, reaching for the lever that would open the floodgate. Out of the corner of his eye, Thorin saw a flash of white, and he tried to follow it.

Could it be?

Kili's cry of pain wrenched his focus back to the problem at hand.

"Uncle!" Fili said desperately, expression panicked. "He's been shot!"

Thorin didn't have much time to think about that before the gate opened behind him and he was falling down a steep waterfall. The river closed in above his head, and he gasped, swallowing water. He coughed and sputtered as the barrel propelled him back to the surface, pulling hair from his face.

The orcs were following along the shore, avidly pursued by elves. Black arrows and crude blades flew toward the Company, but the dwarves had a difficult time dodging as the rapids drew them insistently beneath the waves.

Thorin kept his gaze trained on the riverbank, straining to find some sign, a glimpse of-

There!

Ilma ran beside the elf who'd imprisoned the dwarves, dressed in proper armor. There was a blade in her hand, and she beheaded an orc as Thorin watched. Their eyes met as the corpse fell into the river, and a smile split her face. Relief flooded through Thorin, and he smiled back.

She followed them as closely as she was able, pausing only to cut down orcs woth bows trained on the Company. The dwarves cheered as she leapt over other fights, smiling all the while. She came to an overhang, and made to jump into the river.

An arm reached out and pulled her back by the waist. An orc placed a blade to her neck, and a fierce pain gripped Thorin's heart. The orc was felled by an elf Thorin could only assume was her brother. Neither of them noticed the hilking orc approaching from behind.

Body moving on its own, Thorin threw the sword he'd salvaged before it fell in the river, killing the orc before it could land a blow. As her brother turned to look at it in shock, Ilma met Thorin's gaze, the sadness in her eyes following him as the river carried him away.


	36. Devious Thoughts

Ilma struggled against Legolas' grip, but he only held her tighter.

"Let me go!" She cried, well aware of the tears in her voice. "If I go now, I can catch up to them!"

"And do what?" Her brother replied harshly, jerking her away from the riverside. "Die on a fool's quest? Or live, only to watch your dwarf die instead?"

She pulled herself away, turning to glare tearfully at him. "Stop it! What purpose does this serve?"

He didn't reply, meeting her glare with one of his own, his chest heaving angrily. "You," he said lowly. "Are not of Rivendel. You don't have the blood of Man, nor can you shorten your life for a mortal lover. You are of the wood, and always will be."

Her tears finally spilled, running down her dirty cheeks. "I know that! I know that," she repeated quietly. "I know that."

Legolas sighed heavily. "Come home, sister. Father will welcome you."

He held his hand out to her, pale fingers encrusted with black blood. She stared at it, holding her hands to her chest. Her heart jerked against her ribs, and she looked forlornly over her shoulder. If she tried to run, her brother would stop her, and she'd have no chance of joining Thorin.

_Oh, Thorin._

If she went without complaint, she'd be under less surveillance, and escape would prove easier. Slowly, she took her brother's hand, squeezing his fingers gently. He smiled with relief and wasted no time pulling her upriver. Tauriel was scowling as they passed her, her eyes trained staunchly on the riverbend where the dwarves had last been seen.

Well, perhaps Ilma would not be alone in her escape efforts.


	37. Unacknowledged Feelings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took forever

Thorin paced the riverbank anxiously, his gaze constantly going upriver. Behind him, Fili sat beside his brother, holding his shoulder encouragingly as Oin attempted to clean out the gruesome arrow wound. His nephew's pained expression was clear in Thorin's mind, and he flinched with every groan.

This was not how it was supposed to happen.

He looked up into the dreary sky. It was as if all the world had somehow muted itself, leeching its color until all that remained was a monotonous grey veiling what Thorin knew was a very vivid forest. Perhaps it was the brightness of the elven kingdom that had sensitized him to the general lack of color in the world he called his own.

A hand landed on his shoulder, and he knew without turning that it belonged to Balin.

"Lad," the older dwarf said glumly. "We cannae wait any longer. Kili needs help, and we've no food, no weapons." He sighed, long and hard through his nose. "If she were coming, she'd have been here by now."

Thorin stiffened angrily under his friend's grip. "What are you suggesting?"

Balin hesitated. "I'm only saying, Lad... Ilma will catch up with us, ye know she will. Whatever's keeping her wont last forever."

"So we should abandon her?" Thorin asked darkly. "After all she's done for us?"

"I didnae say that," Balin replied hastily. "Only that we are running out of time, Thorin. And Ilma is resourceful. If she truly wishes to find us, nothing will stop her."

Before Thorin could argue, Kili bellowed sharply from the pain. Conflicted, Thorin resumed his pacing.

Despite their dire situation, Balin began to chuckle. "Why, Lad, if I didn't know better, I'd say you were smitten with the lass."

Thorin froze mid step, teetering before he found his balance. Sparing a glare for Balin, he muttered darkly under his breath as he stormed inland, yelling over his shoulder for the Company to move out.


	38. Parting Ways

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No he's not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so, I had this chapter all written out by hand because I'd been working on it every chance I got. It was a magnificent length too, but then I lost the notebook. ٩(╬ʘ益ʘ╬)۶ I can't believe myself. Through all the Thanksgiving rush and studying for finals, I just misplaced it. Ugh. This chapter is based loosely on what I had written, but nowhere near the quality of the original. For that I apologize. I've also cut the original story I had going into parts, that way I can focus on remembering different things at a time. And who knows, maybe I'll find the notebook.
> 
> Also, I have been agonizing over how to portray Thorin without Ilma there beside him. The story is pretty much the same without her there, so I decided not to return to his POV until Ilma finds him again. I know that's probably annoying, but thus far, Ilma's characterization has been based on her interactions with the Company, and I like the idea of developing her on her own.
> 
> Ciao, Morrowyn.
> 
> P.s. I am focusing solely on this fic until it reaches completion. Knowing me, that's not much of a guarantee of anything, though. Lol.

Ilma scowled darkly to herself as she walked through the shaded halls of her father's palace. Security had really tightened after the Company's escape, and she could hardly take a step without encountering members of the guard. Their eyes followed her closely, and she was sorely tempted to leave. Guilt over her last, unfinished, conversation with Legolas kept her from doing it.

As much as she yearned to rejoin Thorin, she couldn't just leave her brother believing she would use him so callously. She'd planned on staying behind from the beginning, if only to explain her actions before following after the Company, but she hadn't taken the orcs into account. Now Legolas was busy interrogating their survivors and Ilma doubted she'd get the chance to speak with him before she had to leave.

For some reason she couldn't explain, the idea of Thorin entering the mountain without her made her nervous.

Lost in thought, Ilma almost collided with Tauriel as the taller woman rounded a corner.

"Oh," she said, dutifully mortified. "Forgive me, your Highness, I walked in haste."

Ilma waved away her apologetic bow. "Don't worry about it. I wasn't watching my path any more than you were."

With a quick bow, little more than a dip of the knees, Tauriel rushed past the shorter elf, her green eyes wide and unseeing. Curious, Ilma turned to watch her as she rushed down the corridor. She had assumed the red head was helping her brother interrogate the remaining orc-kin, and, as she remembered it, the two of them were practically inseparable. How odd for her to be out on her own.

"Tauriel!"

The taller woman stopped, but hesitated before turning around. "Yes, your Highness?" Her green eyes flit about, pointedly avoiding Ilma's gaze.

"Where are you going?"

The guard captain's shoulder's tensed just enough for the movement to be visible. "I-I am going to patrol the perimeter. We can't have anymore of those scum within our lands."

Her tone was guileless, and her words logical, but something rang false. Ilma smiled up at her old friend. "Then you won't mind if I join you, then."

Tauriel's eyes widened, and her lips thinned imperceptibly. "Of course, not, your Highness. I would be honored."

Ilma fell into step behind Tauriel and resisted the urge to stick her tongue out at the guards as they passed through the front gate. Once out of elven earshot, Tauriel turned on her heel.

"My lady, I assume you have accomplished your goal. Now, I will leave you."

Ilma reached out and grabbed her arm. "Wait, Tauriel. You're going after them, right?"

"I-I don't know what you mean."

Ilma raised one pale eyebrow. It was enough to send Tauriel's eyes bouncing again. "Please, Tauriel, I know you like Kili. I don't blame you. He's an honest soul, and quite tall, for a dwarf." A faint blush crossed her friend's face. "Let me come with you. I've known them longer than you have, and can better judge their actions."

They stood in silence for a moment before Tauriel nodded curtly. "Yes, you are right. Our path's would have crossed anyway."

Ilma smiled, but her mind was filled with trepidation. Legolas was not going to like this.


End file.
